


it's a church of burnt romances

by phanetixs



Category: Fleabag (TV), Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (Hot) Priest Phil, Angst, Atheism, Christianity, Depression, F/M, Fluff, HAPPY ENDING!!, Humor, Issues Of Religion, M/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of homophobia, Mild Smut, PBB 2020, Poor family relationships, References to Minor Character Death, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, writer Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 47,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: Dan backs into the car and the driver asks where he’s heading. His head swims with thoughts of Phil, and of guilt and embarrassment at how he’s subconsciously treating his friend. Whose life centres around virtues like chastity. And non-objectification goes both ways. Dan takes a few deep breaths, pressing a palm to his insistent bulge to quell his arousal. As always, it doesn’t work.Well, he resolves, if he can’t get Phil out of his head, he’s got to get someone else into it. Or onto him, preferably.Or, a Fleabag AU.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wowie!! i can’t believe this is done!! i never thought i could write such a long fic, but this idea (and the pandemic) came along. i’ve been pushed to the limits with this fic, and i’m honestly so happy with how it turned out!
> 
> a huge humongous thanks to my beta, [tasha](https://yourfriendlyblogstalker.tumblr.com/) (who tirelessly went through the fic with a fine-tooth comb, picking apart my useless grammatical skills and offering such intelligent suggestions - i’m a much better writer because of you. sorry if my excessive use of commas caused you grief!!) and [cazzy](https://isthisadrawingiseebeforeme.tumblr.com/) (who is super talented, and whose illustrations have made the fic come to life!!). without their support, this fic wouldn’t have been finished, and i’d still be rolling around in bed thinking about the tv show fleabag. (jk i still do that)
> 
> this leads me to my final thanks to the loml phoebe waller-bridge, who inspired this fic through her brilliant work. ma’am, i love you, pls don’t sue me for stealing some of your lines :)
> 
> (a quick fic note: the death of the minor character is only alluded to and not detailed. there are mentions of infidelity involving dan but nothing graphic. as well, the fic talks quite positively about Christianity, particularly Catholicism. i am not Christian, so though i have done research for the fic, i apologise for any inaccuracies!)
> 
> (EDIT: there's no need to have watched/known abt fleabag prior to reading this fic! the plot is not very similar to the show's and the fic is quite easy to follow!)

On a street in London, a windy chill breaks Dan out of his brisk walk. He huddles closer into his thick woollen coat, and wipes a hand over his nose. There’s something about jogging in the midst of stupid London wind, and by _something_ Dan means: entirely unappealing. 

But anyway, he’s late. He’s late when he startles at a passing woman with bright pink hair; he’s late when he has to stop in a nearby alley to press the heels of his hands to his eyes, suddenly brimming with tears, and tamp down on the anxiety seizing his chest.

It’s been a _year_ and it isn’t any easier. 

The phone in his pocket buzzes a few times. He just knows it’s his mum, can even feel her anxiety from where he is on some dodgy street about ten minutes off. She called him a few weeks ago, out of the blue. Dan was used to going months without speaking to her, only exchanging the occasional text on someone’s birthday, so the fact that she called was surprising. Even more surprising was how she _didn’t_ immediately go on a tangent about a yoga pose when Dan picked up, and instead, invited him for dinner with the family. 

Dan ultimately agreed to the invitation (though he did hum and haw for quite a while) thinking it might be good for him.

It was a delusion at best. Now, as he’s picking up the pace to a restaurant he’s never been to, to see people he doesn’t want to see, it occurs to him that it’ll be the exact opposite of good. As if seeing a hint of Bryony on the streets of London wasn’t a bad enough omen, his parents’ certainly won’t be making it any better. 

Still, he surreptitiously wipes away stray tears and doesn’t turn back.

“Hi,” Dan says plainly when he arrives ten minutes later. No one replies. His family aren’t big on formalities, so there’s no hugging or anything. His brother looks at him with mild disdain, which Dan thinks is more polite than usual.

Dan’s distinctly aware of an unfamiliar body on his right - slightly reddish hair and broad shoulders from what he can see - but resolutely avoids any eye contact. Probably a trans yogi from his mum’s classes, Dan guesses, since she’s all about performative wokeness these days. The standards for allyship have literally never been so low.

Dan looks around the table, there’s the Mystery Person, dressed in all black from what Dan can see from the corner of his eye, his Mum, Dad, Adrian - his brother - and Hanna, his brother’s recent fiance. All bundles of _joy_ \- Dan plasters a tight smile on his face. 

Tonight is for his mum, he presumes, and an announcement, whatever it is. If it turns out he was dragged all the way here for a whole spiel about Nepali veganism, Dan would honestly be the first to leave, even before the meals arrive.

Since he’s not the one paying, Dan orders the most expensive meal paired with some prosecco. He tunes back into the conversation and realises absently that they’re talking to him. “How’s the job? Going well?” his mum asks eagerly, like a vulture waiting for meat. 

“The job is fine,” Dan says. He doesn’t want to elaborate for fear of it being the renewed topic of discussion at the family lunches at Nan’s. God knows he went through all of that when shit hit the fan a year ago. “‘m liking it.”

“Okay, dear, whatever keeps your spirits up,” his mum replies placatingly, and Dan gives her a smile. His dad harrumphs, like being reminded of his son’s depression is somehow offensive to _him_. Then again, he’s never understood it, and Dan’s at the point now where he understands not to take it personally. It’s just how he’s always been.

Adrian speaks then, “Well, _my_ job is going splendidly if anyone’s wondering. Got another big contract with that hedge fund over in Camden.” His teeth gleam under the dim lighting of the room while his fiance tightens her talons on his forearm, and Dan clenches his teeth at what probably is the most conceited statement of capitalist mankind. 

He doesn’t reply, though, for fear of being thrust into the center of conversation. He watches his brother’s mouth form words and the fancy suit he’s wearing - probably paid for by the blood money of corporate bailouts - as he settles into the periphery of attention. No one speaks to him for a solid thirty minutes, and by then, Dan’s no closer to finding out why he was invited to this god forsaken dinner. 

“What is it that you do?” Mystery Man asks, startling him. Dan had pretty much forgotten him, since he hasn’t contributed much to his brother’s tangent about buying insurance, and so, his mouth gapes a bit. The conversation stops around him, and he swivels to meet the eyes of a...well. Handsome man. With eyes slightly moss green and yellow, engulfed by a wealth of blue. 

“Um. I’m a writer,” Dan says. 

Hanna snorts, “Oh. You still are, are you? Thought you’d given up on it like everything else?” 

Two years ago, when they met, Dan was a cafe owner. Hanna had frequented his cafe fairly often by that point, always ordering a vegan brownie that Dan covertly bought from the nearby Lidl, and they both hadn’t figured out the other knew Adrian. Not until Adrian himself walked in a few weeks later and she practically pounced on him in surprise. 

Now, Dan is no longer that wide-eyed restaurant co-owner with his best friend. After Bryony died, Dan couldn’t find it in him to keep the business, surrounded by the left behind vestiges of her personality: the grandfather clock alongside an expanse of cat pictures, the deodorant she kept underneath the counter for the extra sweaty days. If she had found a way to print out cat videos, those would have been put up, too. 

Then, he began to write.

“No, I am,” Dan says politely. They’re all expecting him to put up more of a fight, his brother already gearing up to call him an “attention-seeking asshole” like he did a few months prior, but Dan refrains. He’s realised, there’s really no use fighting with his family. 

“Hey, who are you?” he asks instead, diverting the attention.

Mystery Man blushes faintly, turning to Dan’s parents as if prompting them to speak first. “Well,” his Mum says, grabbing his father’s stiff hand on the table, “We’re um. Darling, you want to?”

His father raises his eyebrows and clears his throat. “Uh, we’re planning-”

“On renewing our vows!” his mum interrupts, lifting Dad’s fist like a boxer after winning a fight. Dan would giggle at how uncomfortable his father looks but, instead, dons a bewildered look similar to Adrian’s. 

Truth be told, Dan’s a bit disappointed. He was sure his mum, after her whole ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ type summer, would’ve been convinced to ditch the deadbeat husband and reinvent herself in Tibet or something. He certainly _wouldn’t_ have expected her to reinforce whatever was left of their marriage, the aftermath of the rows they have about most things. Primarily things to do with Dan.

“Congrats, you two,” Hanna says with a tight smile. Adrian hums in approval, though the sentiment is a bit lost by the way he gulps down the rest of his red wine. Dan keeps quiet, eyes darting to anything interesting around the restaurant; a woman clutching her partner’s hand, the waiter shamelessly eyeing up a man at the table he’s serving, and the person to his right laughing at some snide thing Adrian’s said.

“By the way,” his mother says, breaking Dan out of his reverie, “this is our priest, Phil.”

A _priest_ , wow, Dan wouldn’t have guessed. He doesn’t think it’s normal for priests to wear henleys, or jeans, for that matter, but then again, the last time he’d actually gone to church was about ten years ago. It’s also strange to consider priests living their lives outside church - not that Dan ever thought they were confined to it per se, but it’s still jarring to see them as real people who wear jeans and drink wine.

“Hi,” Dan says, smiling innocently at the man who’s going to have to handle his parents for the next few weeks. Godspeed. “Good to meet you.”

“Hey,” Phil says to Adrian, Dan and Hanna. “Nice to meet you all.”

Adrian hums, “Where are you from, Phil?”

“From St Mary’s over by Wembley. A bit small but does the job,” Phil says, shrugging. Dan’s sure he’s passed the building before, given that it’s near his office. He’d say as much to Phil, but he fears being invited in. “Been working there a couple of years now but I haven’t done a wedding. Will be fun!” 

It is clear by this point that he has far too _much_ enthusiasm to get along with the Howells. His father looks genuinely pained at Phil’s exuberance.

They get more wine as his mum starts talking about preparations. About wanting Dan and Adrian to start getting in shape (as if walking down a ten-metre aisle would take the stamina of a horse) and planning dress shopping with Hanna sometime. For something frilly and lace-patterned.

“Do loads of people still go to church?” Dan asks dumbly, when the others are absorbed in conversation.

Phil nods. “Yeah. Everybody sins, don’t they?”

“Well, commiting sins and atoning for them are two different things,” Dan quips. 

Phil laughs, “Well, you might be happy to note that most of the London old lady population lie in the latter half.”

Dan smirks, “And the young men?” 

“Well,” Phil blushes, “I haven’t met enough young men to make a judgement yet.”

“Good to know,” Dan says finally. That whole conversation might’ve been considered as flirty but, then again, that’s probably against the Bible. Dan’s shaken out of their little bubble of murmured chatter when Adrian calls his name. 

Adrian says with an awkward look, “Hanna and I thought we’d give you a gift. Since you’ve been having a rough time and all.”

Dan recoils - this isn’t going to be good. But given his audience of Phil, the holy substitute, Dan smiles ruefully. “That’s nice of you.”

“We think so, too,” Hanna remarks, proffering an envelope, “and here are some vouchers for a free therapy session next week.”

Dan startles, asking slowly, “ _Therapy_?”

It’s not that Dan hadn’t considered it before. At his lowest point, when he couldn’t get out of bed for a solid few days as he was inundated with grief and guilt, he’d thought it might be nice to talk to someone about it. Someone who wouldn’t judge or get mad, like everyone else seemed to be doing. 

But then, he realised he shouldn’t have to wallow in the past. That Bryony was gone, and Wirrow was fuck knows where, and there are things that shouldn’t have to be unearthed to help him move on. Because realistically, they won’t, and he’ll be stuck in a weird limbo of emotions for good.

So, no to therapy. No to meddling families who don’t know their arse from their heads. 

“Yeah, therapy. We have a friend somewhere down in Camden who has a practice. We mentioned you were having some trouble and she said you might like having a chat,” Adrian says absently, scrolling through his phone.

“I might _like_ it?” Dan asks, fuming. “That’s like telling an alcoholic, “Oh, you might _like_ going to rehab and talking about your problems to some fucking stranger.””

“Psh,” his father rebuffs, “you’re just being stubborn.”

“I’m better!” Dan exclaims. “I’m taking care of myself and liking the fact that I’m not a shit person half the time, unlike some of _you,_ ” he says scathingly.

His mum leans over Phil to put a hand over his arm, eyes darting around. “Darling, you’re making a scene.”

Dan takes a breath, Bryony’s face flashing through his mind. “I’m not making a scene. I’m tired of being coddled by this family who think that,” he puts up his thumb, “a) I’m not adept at handling my own life and,” he puts up his pointer, “b) when I tell you I’m doing well, you spring on a whole intervention to insinuate that I’m not.”

Phil’s shoulders sway beside him and Dan realises he’s nudging their shoulders together in some comforting way. Dan hates it. He hates that the only person being understanding now is a person he met not an hour ago.

“You’re not doing well,” Hanna says, matter of fact. “Your best friend died and your career imploded. Both of which were your fault. How can you pretend you’re happy?”

Dan wants to cry. He really does. He doesn’t know how some people can summarise all your problems in a sentence, and air it out like fresh laundry. Dan puts his head in his palms to hide the way he’s flushed and teary all at once.

“Stop,” Phil says suddenly, in the silence that follows, “that’s not nice. You guys are family after all.”

Ever the _saint_. Dan can’t help but remark snidely, “Oh, is that in the Bible somewhere?”

His mum is quick to intervene, “That’s _rude_!” 

Dan laughs bitterly at her scandalised tone. True to form, she’s more upset about hurting a priest than her firstborn. He really can’t stand any of them.

“Hey,” Adrian says as Dan’s getting up, “seriously, consider the therapy session. We paid good money for that.”

Wow ok. “Go fuck yourself,” Dan says to the dinner party before he collects his coat and leaves. 

+

Dan doesn’t end up going very far. 

Opposite the restaurant there’s a club, glitzy and loud, and completely alluring to Dan in his current state. He doesn’t want much - just a distraction. He contemplates getting a drink but the bar is crowded, a mess of empty vodka glasses and peanut shells and tipsy patrons.

The distraction he wants is purely physical anyway, preferably a filthy mouth and grabby hands. He spots a man on the corner of the dancefloor, bobbing his head to the tunes and, most importantly, he’s alone. He’s taller than Dan, which is a rarity in itself, and has soft fingers. These same fingers trail over Dan’s collar and arms ten minutes later, pressing lightly into his skin. 

He says, “My name is Bobby,” into the dip of Dan’s collarbone, and asks if he wants his mind blown. 

It would be remiss of Dan to say that these things don’t happen often. They’ve been happening less frequently of late, yes, but sometimes, the only things keeping him sane at night are a warm mouth and a hand on his cock. Not that he’d ever tell Adrian that, or the rest of his family, because they already think he’s a mess enough.

Which is part of the reason why Hanna’s words cut so deep. What he thinks is making him better is, at most, a distraction. He tries to fuck the grief out of him for one night, and where the man by his side gets to leave temporary imprints on his skin, the ache inside him is still permanent. 

Still, after the night he’s had, he thinks it’s worth it. He’s deserving of a lazy trail of kisses down his neck, and a man thumbing his zipper and whispering hurriedly for his address. He deserves it when he’s stumbling out onto the dewy pavement in front of a place of sin and locks eyes with the priest across the road. 

Phil’s eyes widen then as he takes in the man flagging down a taxi while getting handsy under Dan’s shirt. They’re both stagnant, as if knowing they’re at some moral impasse. Somewhere in Phil’s gaze, beyond the confusion, Dan pinpoints the disappointment. 

He doesn’t deserve _that_ , not today. So, he waves Phil goodbye with his middle finger and enjoys the good feeling for what it is; not what it ought to be.

+

Dan was close to Adrian at some point. It was easy to be the big brother growing up because Adrian was relatively obedient, and loyal, and never let Dan be bitten by his pet rabbit he used to keep up in his room. 

It changed around the time Dan did. Admittedly, Dan became more withdrawn, got a fringe and began staying in his room all day playing video games. No one could’ve told him otherwise, not even his ten year-old brother who demanded his attention quite frequently. 

He remembers once, Adrian coming down to the basement only to catch Dan snogging the life out of his English classmate, Robbie. It’s not that Adrian reacted badly, not really, but after Dan forced him to keep quiet about it to his parents, and not talk about it to him either, it seemed like Adrian was on a tightrope with a giant chasm on both sides. 

Dan feels terrible about it, in hindsight. Forcing your younger brother to keep your mighty gay secret, while concurrently ignoring him in favour of sex and gaming, was a shitty thing by any measure, and Dan’s sure Adrian hasn’t gotten over it. 

This probably doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, to an Oxford graduate investment banker with a big home, a stunning (albeit unlikeable) fiance and millions to his name. Definitely above and beyond what Dan could ever make of himself, so Adrian had the last laugh there.

So, when Adrian comes to visit him in his new flat it’s a bit of a surprise. It’s not much of a flat, really. It’s a shoebox, at best, and the only guests he typically has over are his...evening entertainment. Not a family-friendly home at all. 

“ _T_ _his_ is where you live?” Adrian asks, barely stepping in. 

“Yes?” Dan says indignantly, unwilling to agree that he does live in a hellhole to someone who can easily buy over his entire flat building.

Adrian sniffs. “It smells like sewer water. Are you having problems with the plumbing?”

Dan frowns. “Didn’t realise I’d be having the Queen over. Would’ve prepared a spot of tea, ha.” 

Adrian hates sarcasm above everything. Where he prefers to be verbally blunt about things, Dan is far more passive-aggressive in arguments. Unless they really piss him off, upon which an onslaught of anger and fury is let loose.

“Nevermind, I need to talk to you,” Adrian says, pushing past him. Dan rolls his eyes, _welcome, sibling._ Dan does a mental check if he’s left anything suggestive on the floor or sofa. His flat is so small that if he chucked something aside, it would wind up near the opposite wall, so he technically can’t manage the mess.

They sit on the sofa in silence for two minutes, which Dan thinks is a clear power play.

“Why are you here if you’re not saying anything?” Dan asks, exasperated, to Adrian, who is keenly studying one of the papers on his desk. Dan peers over - it’s an old article he wrote a while back.

“You’re _actually_ writing still,” Adrian says, more of a surprised remark than anything else. 

Dan huffs. “Of course I am. Just because we haven’t seen each other in half a year doesn’t mean that my whole life fell apart.” He’s aware of the irony - his life _did_ fall apart, but that had little to do with Adrian after all.

“I’m happy for you,” Adrian replies. It sounds vaguely condescending, like Dan keeping a job is some big achievement, but he takes the words at face value. He _is_ proud of himself and he’s learnt it’s not worth much pretending otherwise.

It’s no secret Dan was having a hard time: his YA novel flopped for being too “political” without enough of the kitsch to placate the hoardes of teens reading queer books for the gay makeout scene at the end. That spelled the end of his brief stint as romance writer and now, Dan’s tied to a major left-wing magazine in London, and writes mostly historical fiction in his free time. 

It’s not exactly where he wants to be, but close enough.

“Thank you,” Dan says, leisurely sipping on the coffee he was enjoying before Mr. Unwelcomed Guest arrived. The arena of small talk is narrowing by the minute and Dan clears his throat to move things along.

“Sooo…” Adrian begins. “Mum wants us to co-write a speech.”

Dan honest to god chokes. “ _What?_ ”

“Our mother wants us to write a ‘Best Man’ speech together for the wedding. Where we will both speak,” Adrian explains, “together.”

“Okay,” Dan trails off, at a loss for words. It’s so typical of his mum to throw an unorthodox curveball into a wedding no one wants to attend anyway. And co-opting her (usually) feuding sons into some _dual-_ best-men-type situation is as surprising as it is cruel that she’d subject them both to extensive amounts of time in each other’s company. 

“Wait. You’re ok with this?” Dan asks.

Adrian shrugs. “She insisted.”

“You’ve turned down her insistence before,” Dan replies, arching a brow. He remembers vividly how Mum desperately wanted Adrian to stay closer to home in Manchester for university but Adrian hauled arse out of home and to Oxford the first chance he got. 

Adrian grimaces. “She hinted at some exclusive mother-son salsa lessons if we didn’t follow.”

He suddenly understands Adrian’s rationale and lolls his tongue in disgust. “Ugh. That tyrant.” He tries to imagine putting his hand around his Mum’s waist in a _Strictly-Come-Dancing_ -type situation. Fuck no. “Ok, so, you’re here for the speech then?”

To be honest, Dan’s trying to speed things along so he can get back to his Killing Eve marathon. It’s a Saturday after all, and what are Saturdays for if not for completely devolving into a conch of a human and vegging/drinking/crying/sexing away your problems. Dan’s not very picky in that respect; any would do.

“I also wanted to...” Adrian says slowly, “apologise.”

Dan startles. “Wow. A first.”

“Shut up,” Adrian quips instinctively. It feels very much like those days they’d play video games in the living room and Dan shouting at Adrian to “GET THOSE COINS, TURD!”

“I realise now that offering someone therapy is not a good gift.” Dan snorts. “But Hanna and I just wanted to help and sort of mend things a bit.”

How do you mend things that are irreparably broken, Dan wonders. Yet, he smiles tightly. “Thanks.”

Adrian nods. “Well, I did also come here because Mum wants us to start the speech.”

“And between the both of us, I’m the better writer?” Dan goads, wanting to milk it. It’s not everyday his brother acquiesces that he needs his help. The last he remembers was when Adrian had a row with Hanna and needed a place to sleep for the night. He was gone by morning with no thank you in sight.

Adrian grins, moving closer to him on the sofa. “Well, the talented genes couldn’t have _all_ gone to me.”

“Ah wait,” Dan tuts, “Since Mum exhausted all her depressed, anxious-ridden genes on me, you were left with the rest. You should be thanking me for being so fucked up, honestly.”

Adrian frowns. “You’re not depressed.”

What the fuck. Dan laughs in surprise. “Yeah, I _am_ , Adrian. Or did I have a cheery body double this past year?”

Adrian shakes his head. “No, you’re going through a _slump_. Depression is like...worse. I don’t think you’re that bad. See, you can talk to me all fine.”

Dan gapes. This is wrong on so many levels. “Why did you pay for that therapy session if you didn’t think something was happening with me?” 

Not even something, _many_ things arguably went to shit when Bryony died. Dan thought it was plain as day, especially when his brother kept showing up to his old place, barraging him with notices about mortgage payments on the cafe all whilst Dan sat stoically at the kitchen table. It went on for months. How can you look at that and think it was just a temporary _slump_?

“No,” Adrian sighs. “Whatever, you’re better now, right? You said that? That’s good. Ok, ok,” Adrian repeats, seemingly wanting to reassure himself. Dan lets it go because - similar to his thoughts on therapy - he doesn’t particularly want to relive that part of his life. Not with someone obtuse enough not to realise that his own brother was depressed. And believe it wasn’t some ploy for pity or attention.

“Whatever,” Dan snaps, “can we get on with that speech now?”

Adrian turns sideways on the sofa, one leg under the other. He looks relieved by the change in subject. “Yep. Um. Mum wants us to talk about our utterly _blissful_ family, tell some anecdotes, shmooze the guests, etcetera.”

“Oh wow,” Dan says faintly. “We have our work cut out for us.”

Adrian nods gravely. “First, we probably need to figure out if there are any _good_ memories to talk about.”

There were several, most of them to do with their Nan. Dan remembers his Nan quite fondly - after Adrian, she was the next person he told about the fact he might be some sort of queer. She was heavily Christian, the devout kind that lived and breathed the local parish, and yet, never closed off her heart to him. At a time when so many did. He would always be profoundly grateful for that.

“I’m sure there are a couple,” Dan says, finally finding a reason to smile a bit even though he’s still mostly irritated.

Then, they get down to work.

+

The vow renewal, Mum announces unceremoniously through a Whatsapp group chat message, is in three months. She also sends a few texts about other expensive preparations but Dan glazes over those, unwilling to participate in this wedding any more than he needs to. 

It just seems...excessive...is all. He would be a more helpful son or whatever if this was a necessary, life-altering event, but here, it just seems like Mum wanted to have a reason to throw a party and show off a level of lavishness they were deprived off when Dan and Adrian were growing up.

Dan’s happy that his parents are doing better financially these days. Growing up very working-class meant sometimes waiting a few months before being able to buy new bath soap or selling off old family possessions to settle their mortgage. It was unstable, and scary, and Dan would never want to revert to that situation again.

So, he doesn’t really fault his parents for splurging on different bouquets and two cakes now that they _can_ , but he won’t cheer them on either. 

“Hey,” someone says at the door, and Dan drops his phone like a hot potato. It’s been a couple of months at his new job and he _really_ doesn’t want to be seen slacking. Especially not around his bosses who knew he was a fuckup but gave him a job anyway. 

“Yes, Kiran,” Dan says politely to his section editor.

“Bro, Mcclain’s given us a deadline at the end of this week for that article on Hardie. You have that draft done yet?

“Already proofread by Amelie and forwarded to Mcclain and is now pending approval,” Dan replies hurriedly.

“ _Sick_ ,” Kiran says appreciatively. “Thanks, mate. He’s been up our arse about it for so long but I’ve been busy with the graphics for the latest edition.”

Dan shrugs, “Just doing my job.” He also knows that he’s first for the chopping block if there are any mistakes, so it's down to him to keep up with everything happening in the office. Even if it means staying later than usual to coerce his favourite coworker, Amelie, into reading a draft she really doesn’t have time for. A true friend by any account.

“We’re going out for drinks Saturday night,” Kiran says. It might be a question or a statement, either way Dan thinks an invitation is coming. “Do you wanna-”

Damn, ok. Thing is, Dan’s not at that stage where he’s comfortable enough to go out with colleagues because he’d probably be extremely stiff and overly paranoid about every movement. He would go to great lengths to avoid even jostling the hand of his boss for fear of being fired.

Plus, none of his colleagues know he’s gay yet, which would probably change some things.

“Saturday…” Dan scrambles for an excuse. He says the first thing that comes to mind: “Oh yikes, I have..um..church on Sunday, so an early morning.” What the fuck. Why is his go-to excuse going someplace he hasn’t been for years. Further unconvincingly, Dan adds, “A friend’s a priest.”

Ok, a bit of a reach, but it _is_ a possibility. If Phil gets over Dan’s, uh, transgressions at some point.

“A priest, eh? Don’t see many young priests nowadays,” Kiran says, stroking his chin. “Do you usually go to church?”

“Mm,” Dan hums non-comittantly. “When I can.”

Kiran looks impressed, at least, (though not for long, until he finds out Dan’s just lied to him multiple times over the course of the conversation) which isn’t the worst thing in the world. Plus, being a pious left-leaning individual is a bit rare, so he’s hoping it’s an edge enough to be kept employed. He’s probably grasping at straws here - he needs this job, ok?

“Cool, cool. Ok, so drinks some other time, yeah, lad? Maybe see if your priest friend wants to come along. Would be fun to meet him.”

Dan nods, hoping he doesn’t look too much like he’s just swallowed a lemon. He manages a " _Yeah, ok,_ that he probably will regret later, and Kiran leaves the room.

Well fuck.

  
  


+

  
  


Dan used to, with Bryony, go out thrifting sometimes. He liked it - not for the mainstream bougie hype it’s earned, but for the well-worn cardigan with hanging thread or the little antiques they’d find at the corner of a rack. There are _so_ many stories there, so many people who’ve loved and lost, and from them so many things that wind up scattered in stores across London.

Since Bryony passed, he’s found it hard to find the joy in many things. That includes, of course, spontaneous Sunday trips to thrift shops, trying on huge coats for the giggles and poking at the things too expensive to buy. 

When Dan passes by a thrift store that Saturday morning, fresh off a morning-after getaway from a bloke’s house in Camden, the breath is punched out of Dan immediately. It’s irrational, the way he steps back like he’s been burnt, which bumps him into a businessman on his phone.

“Sorry,” Dan says. 

“Dick,” the man mutters back, hurrying along.

He finds himself still in front of the pale blue storefront a few minutes later, staring at the brass doorknob. He has options: (1) he could go back a mile and demand a round two to distract himself, (2) scurry to the nearest restaurant for breakfast or (3) suck it up and enjoy the store. It may seem like a no-brainer option, but Dan has his reservations. What if he walks in and bursts into tears at the sight of a coat rack? And the old lady cashier is forced to console him and Dan accidentally divulges the _whole_ story and he’s exiled from the shop forever? They’re all valid outcomes where Dan’s concerned.

Still, he owes it to himself (and Bryony) to try, and suddenly, the two steps between where he is standing and the front door are no longer insurmountable. He steps forward once, and again, and when he opens the door, he feels somewhat whole. 

He can envision the silhouette of two twenty-somethings laughing over a knick-knack, her fingers on Dan’s shoulders, nails usually painted a bright pink. He walks around the store slowly, taking stock of the sweaters and jeans, the Vans with the small hole in the side. To him, they all smell like a lifetime of experiences, happy and sad and the messiness in between. 

He rounds the bookshelf where the used books are. Trailing a finger along the spines of the books, he grabs one titled, ‘Where Did She Go.’ No question mark. A statement, like knowing she’s gone and there’s nothing to do about it. 

Inside, where the title is reprinted on the first page, a bright red circle is drawn around it. Underneath, in small letters, someone has written, ‘Somewhere better.’

With shaky hands, he buys the book immediately. It costs a pound fifty, but Dan hands over a fiver and tells the old lady to keep the change. It’s worth it - since he’s just found something precious. 

He doesn’t know why, or if the book is any good, but to him, the first two pages speak volumes enough.

+

There’s a text on his phone when he gets back. 

**_Adrian_ ** _: the priest asked me for your number. psa: don’t accidentally talk to him abt your pentagrams._

 **_Dan_ ** _: ha ha_

He rereads the text.

**_Dan_ ** _: ???? fuck adrian why does he want to talk to me???_

There’s no reply so Dan’s forced to wait in agony. He’s sure Phil’s about to give him this long lecture about chastity, and not flipping off a priest, when he does text. Or come over. Or whatever Adrian’s let him do. 

He’s really not interested in some moral crusade, especially not now as he’s mildly hungover and off a mini-breakdown over a thrift store. 

As if on cue, his phone dings again. It better be Adrian begging for his forgiveness.

**_Unknown_ ** _: hi, i’m phil. the priest._

Dan rolls his eyes.

**_Dan_ ** _: yes hi_

It’s simple enough to be construed as cordial but also completely uninterested. A perfect start. He saves Phil’s contact as “Hot Priest” because he can’t shake off the intensity of Phil’s gaze no matter how hard he tries.

**_Hot Priest_ ** _: knock knock_

Dan snorts. 

**_Dan_ ** _: yes who dat_

 **_Hot Priest_ ** _: Noah_

 **_Dan_ ** _: noah who_

 **_Hot Priest_ ** _: I noah guy if you need an Ark!_

What the fuck?? Okay, so to recap: Phil got Dan’s number to send him stupid Christian knock-knock jokes. Why is that cringey and endearing at the same time, Dan thinks with a smile, shaking his head at his phone.

**_Dan_ :** _thanks for that. rly brightened my shitty morning_

_**Hot Priest** : Oh. Want to talk about it? _

Dan refuses to rise to the bait. It’s clear Phil’s stalling now, and Dan definitely prefers people who are straightforward in their advances. 

**_Dan_ ** _: not really. do you have something in particular to discuss?_

There’s a bit when the bubbles emerge and Phil’s texting back. It goes one, two minutes before Dan gives up on waiting and goes to make himself some breakfast since he skipped on it earlier that day. 

He’s deciding between a proper fry-up or some Shreddies from the cupboard when he hears a ding back. Unwilling to seem eager, he goes with the Shreddies and makes himself some strong coffee to wake him from this distorted reality of thrift stores and joke-texting priests. As the water is boiling, he goes to pick up his phone and sees a series of three messages from the Hot Priest and a few more from Adrian. 

He opens Adrian’s first, the safer of the two.

**_Adrian_ ** _: idk mate he just asked mum to ask me for your number? appaz mum lost yours when she changed phones so that’s another thing she’ll complain abt when we see her next_

 **_Adrian_ ** _: be nice yeah. she’ll go nuclear if we scare him off again lol_

 **_Dan:_ ** _ok. wait what happened after i left dinner the other day_

 **_Adrian_ ** _: the dude went on a tangent abt how you’re clearly having a bad time and how we should treat family nicely and all that religious bs_

Dan snorts.

**_Dan_ ** _: is religious bs codeword for being a decent human being_

Adrian leaves him on read. Typical. Dan switches to Phil’s chat instead. 

**_Hot Priest_ ** _: I just...wanted to see if you were ok._

 **_Hot Priest_ ** _: After last week I mean_

 **_Hot Priest_ ** : _Because you were upset then uh preoccupied. So like I wanted to check in._

Dan laughs to himself. Phil was in for a whirlwind that night but those kinds of arguments are what the Howells are used to. If they _didn’t_ fight as much, that would be a strange universe to become accustomed to. If Dan didn’t have to prove himself to every family member he comes across, life wouldn’t be worth living, Dan muses. 

(He’s highkey astounded at how nice Phil’s turning out to be. This is a person who Dan’s only met once, yet knew instinctively that Dan _was_ actually hurting after the ordeal and even texted to ask him about it. It’s probably the priestly thing to do, Dan reasons, but still: very nice.)

**_Dan_ :** _i’m good, thanks for asking. sorry abt the whole incident outside the club :( wasn’t nice of me_

It’s as much of an apology Dan’s willing to give now. Enough to make him feel less shitty about the whole thing.

_**Hot Priest**_ : _That’s okay! :) Hey, want to meet up in person sometime? You seem like a cool guy._

From the ten minutes of conversation they had. Ok. Phil’s not the best judge of character it seems. Anyway, Dan does think Phil’s kind of intriguing and if Kiran asks them out again at least Phil could _actually_ come to back him up, so it's a win-win situation for all. 

**Dan** : _sure i guess? just text me when and where._

  
  


+

Phil hesitantly steps into Dan’s flat a few days later. At this point, it’s about two months to the re-wedding (as Dan calls it) and Phil’s come over because Dan offhandedly mentioned having two Switches - the second one he got battling to the death in a Black Friday sale - and Phil got irrationally excited about it. 

“Hi, you,” Phil says, holding a bag of pastries.

Dan likes that. He likes that Phil’s been paying attention to their (increasingly frequent) texts about Dan salivating over those new croissants at Costa’s. The same ones Phil’s brought over.

“You’re godsent!” Dan exclaims. He doubles back, “Wait, you literally _are_ , the fuck.”

Phil laughs, arching a brow. “Not an angel or anything. Just a guy here to kick butt at some Mario Kart.”

They’ve been trash-talking each other over Mario Kart for the past two days now; Phil saying he’s the best out of his friends at it, and Dan countering with the fact that they haven’t played against each other yet, so he better watch his back. Today’s the battle for glory.

“Yessir,” Dan retorts, taking the bag. He gestures for Phil to take a seat on the sofa while he plates the croissants, going starry-eyed at the flaky top already.

“So, uh,” Phil says from the sofa, “what’ve you been up to?”

“Well other than opening your messages about dog memes, nothing much. Been working on a couple of articles but what’s new.” 

Dan half-forgets that Phil doesn’t really know much about him, contrary to how frequently they text now. They mostly talk about superficial things - movies, tv shows, etc - interspersed with Dan’s self-deprecating humor and Phil’s shiny optimism about all things in life. (Seriously, the other day he tried to find the silver lining in the GOT ending - an impossible feat.)

Phil says, “That’s good. That you’re keeping busy. We don’t get many new people at the church unless it’s a bank holiday. Most days it’s just Janice complaining about her lousy husband. Nothing new there for me either.”

Dan laughs. “Are confessions still a thing? I bet there’s some spicy drama there.”

“Oof,” Phil says, eyes flashing like he’s _seen_ things. Or heard things, in this context. “Too much. Until I felt like I needed to cleanse _myself_ after.”

“Poor baby,” Dan says, mock-sympathetically. “You’ll need to cleanse yourself after I wipe you out at Mario Kart, just warning ya,” he taunts, grabbing the switch and placing the croissants on the table. “Thanks for these by the way, didn’t think you’d go all the way to buy some for me.”

Phil smiles. “Um. No big deal.” He grabs his controller as well.

“Time to die, Philip,” Dan says.

“Die, Philip, die,” Phil says in a squeaky high voice and Dan lets out a fond laugh. What is _up_ with this man?

“You’re such a strange person,” Dan comments, shaking his head and turning his attention to the game at hand.

Two races later, Dan is marginally in the lead. Like he knew he was going to be; he doesn’t know why Phil’s so surprised. It’s amusing, though, the way Phil’s been making strange noises, letting out long sighs of disappointment for the past two hours now. He’s definitely a sore loser.

“Oh, _Phil_ ,” Dan says pityingly, “still second, eh?” Dan pretends to yawn. “Well then, can’t beat the master I see.”

“Shiiii-” Phil exclaims frantically, trying to overtake Dan around a corner but Dan cuts through the grass, dodges a stray banana peel, and speeds ahead again.

“Priests don’t curse,” Dan tuts, letting go of a backwards bob-omb. Dan fake-yawns. “Too easy, Phil, gotta try harder next time,” he says, turning back to the screen and seeing his character emerge first. He whoops and parades around a fake crown and award, like the generous champion that he is.

Phil snuggles further into the cushion, puts his hands over his face in defeat. Dan fleetingly thinks he should’ve let Phil win, lest Phil’s tantrum causes his parents’ re-wedding to be _cursed_ , or something, but Phil’s look of anger/disappointment is one for the books. 

“How are you so- “ Phil says, trailing off. 

“Good at everything?” Dan supplies. “Oh, it’s a _skill_ , Philly. Gotta hang out with me more to learn my secrets.”

Phil lifts his hands off his face, eyebrows lifting. “Was that an invitation?”

Dan snorts, clearing the stray croissant bits off his shirt. “An invitation for what?”

“To hang out with you more,” Phil says. Dan doesn’t trust the warm inflection in his tone. It reminds him too much of Bryony’s, which is...a road he won’t travel again. He doesn’t need more friends, not really. He has his family (occasionally) and his colleagues (once he warms up to them) and PJ (when he remembers to call). And if it comes down to it, he has his booty calls, too, to keep him content. There’s no room for friends at the moment. Plus, having a priest as a friend is cause for more scrutiny, right? By god or whoever? That’s not an attractive prospect. 

Despite all that, there’s something about this man that makes him hard to turn down, Dan thinks. Or maybe he’s just attracted to him on a superficial level and wants deep in his pants - which is highly unlikely given clerical celibacy. Added to the fact that Phil might not even be _gay_.

So, he doesn’t exactly know what this is: friendship? Some sort of redemption arc for Dan? A lover? - Dan cringes at the thought. He does feel like it might be safe to explore a bit further though, and, at the very least, it won’t hurt to have a video game buddy on weekends. 

“Hanging out, huh?” Dan says, stroking his chin. “What does that entail?”

“Well,” Phil starts with a small grin, “it means seeing each other more often for one. And that I might come over for game nights or you might...come visit me at the church?”

Dan’s face scrunches up. Phil continues, “or...maybe not. Option’s open.”

“Maybe not,” Dan agrees, but he proffers a hand anyway. “This is a privilege, sir. And by that, I mean you get my company out of it, which is exclusive to only a few good men, you see,” he sniffs, fake-dignified. 

Phil smiles. It’s a crooked grin paired with shiny eyes. Somewhere within him Dan feels a warning sign go off, but he ignores it for now. Phil takes his hand. 

Friends. How hard can that be?

+

It turns out to be quite hard. 

Dan’s usually super busy on weekdays, given his full-time job and all, and by the time he gets back home the last thing he wants to do is talk to someone else. 

He’s always had a limited social battery and work never fails to exhaust it all. He reckons due to a potent combination of having a job that requires interviewing and having colleagues around to tempt him out for some workplace lunch to foster camaraderie or _something_ \- whatever it is, Dan’s not a fan. 

And as a result, when he’s home, he tends to veg out on the sofa with some trashy reality show before heading to bed at a measly 10 o’clock. He’s _definitely_ mellowed - Bryony would cackle at this.

In contrast, Phil’s incredibly busy on weekends between church duties and fundraising activities. He claims that he “really enjoys his job” and he gets to “pet a lot of dogs at some of the events” but Dan doesn’t think anyone can love their job _that_ much. Even when he was a business-owner and could _theoretically_ set his own work parameters, he still lowkey hated it. Customer service jobs are a whole other beast. 

Anyway, the point is, they don’t see each other for a whole week and a half. In normal terms, that seems like a decent amount of time apart from a friend, especially a new one at that. But Dan thinks that since Phil’s walked into his life, his craving for company has come back full force. He realises that he maybe misses texting someone to set up plans, or to talk about a new Netflix show, without the pressure of trying to impress or shag them. 

On a Thursday afternoon, Dan begs off work early. It’s a bit hard to do given the fact that they’re all supposed to be rushing to meet deadlines, and scrambling to fulfill the requirements of the capitalist marketing cog despite being a socialist magazine, most Thursdays (Fridays are print days) but Dan’s been neurotic about his work enough that people seem to think he needs a break.

Melita, the lady from HR, waves him off mumbling, “Yeah, yeah.”

Easy enough.

Thing is, he’s had a lingering concept in his mind. An abstract idea that involves him walking down to Phil’s church to pop in for some tea. That is, if churches have tea and crumpets like any modern British institution. At the very worst, he’d have to sit through one of Phil’s sermons. Maybe if he sits far back enough he can nap without anyone noticing.

It seems like a solid enough plan, enough to make him step foot into a haunted-looking building with stained glass everywhere and too many portraits of naked women and her kids. At the front, he’s greeted with a smile by a volunteer, he thinks, who’s setting up a booth promoting an upcoming fundraiser. 

“What’s this for?” Dan asks politely to her. Part of him is stalling because he’s convinced the moment he steps in, he will be banished to hell and have to atone for his sins, and another part of him is nervous to see Phil again. Especially uninvited.

“We have some kids down in the children’s home who want to see a show on the West End!” she says excitedly, and, by the way she’s buzzing, Dan might have to reconsider his thoughts about people loving their jobs. “So, we’re putting on a small show of our own to raise money.” Dan can see the virtual smiley face emoji she’s radiating.

“That’s a great idea,” Dan smiles. “Are you taking donations yet?”

“Oh,” the woman says, startled. “Uh. Yeah, yeah, sure. Thank you!” Now it’s the blushing-face emoji in full force.

Dan takes stock of whatever he has left in his wallet - about a hundred pounds, a condom and a debit card. He grabs a handful of notes and passes them over. “I’m sorry I can’t give more, it’s all I have, really.”

The woman looks at him, awed. “The most we expected to get was like twenty pounds. So, this is bonkers!” 

“No worries,” Dan says. “Say, do you know if Phil’s in?”

“Phil?” She pauses for a minute. “ _Oh!_ The young one! Yeah, just saw him inside.” The woman stares at him before asking shyly, “You planning to come to the show?”

Dan looks at the banner hung in front of the booth, detailing the place and time. It’s this Sunday in the community park. Technically, he probably does have better things to do than watch some kids’ drama, given the fact that he’s already donated. But the woman looks hopeful enough, and he’ll probably get to hang out with Phil again if things end up boring. “Maybe, yeah, just gotta clear my schedule.” _Of eating donuts while watching Southpark._

“Well, ok great! It’s a date!” the woman says, a goddamn _twinkle_ in her eyes, and Dan suddenly realises he’s far too gay for this. “I’m Rox, by the way. See you on Sunday!”

Fuck. 

Just as Dan’s scrambling for a way out, Phil saunters up beside him, looking far too smug for his own good. “Hey guys! Having a little chat?”

Dan tries to discreetly stamp on his foot. “Mhm,” Dan grits out, “Rox was telling me about the fundraiser.”

Phil laughs. “Yeah, that’s usually a big hit among the churchgoers, but I’m sure Rox here is _open_ to new faces.”

“Nice, nice, yeah,” Dan says awkwardly. “Well, sorry Rox but I have some...uh...important things to talk to Mr. Priest here about. See you Sunday.”

Her face lights up even more, if that’s possible. “Wow, yeah. See you!”

They’re a few steps into the church when Phil starts laughing hysterically. “ _Phil_ !” Dan scolds, swatting his shoulder. “She’s _right_ there, idiot!”

At that Phil sobers up a bit. “Hey, calling a priest an idiot _in_ a church is bad taste, sir. And, two, I can’t help it; you looked terrified by the hetero vibes she was emitting.”

 _God yeah_ , Dan shudders. “The last time I was chatted up by a woman, it was during my brief time in university. Y’know what happened? I didn’t know how to explain I was...you know...”

“Gay?”

“Can you say that in a church?”

Phil grins. “I’d like to think we’re an accepting one, so, yes.”

“Ok fine. That I was _gay_ ,” Dan almost whispers the word, eyes darting around, “and so we did go on that date and the whole charade lasted until she tried to snog me at the back of a cinema.”

“Who goes on a fake date to a cinema?” Phil asks, befuddled. “It’s something you reserve for your best dates, alright. The bumping hands over popcorn, the laying heads on each other’s shoulders. Prime real date-y stuff!” Convincing enough an argument that Dan, for a split second, feels angered at himself, too.

“It’s very telling that you’re focusing on that part of the story instead of the fact that I had to go out with a _girl_ then. And now on Sunday as well. Hope you’re happy, God: you’ve turned me straight the moment I arrived into a place of worship.”

Phil laughs again, heartily this time. “Mission accomplished. Speaking of which, why are you here anyway? You strike me as not the biggest fan of religion.”

Dan gasps in mock outrage. “How dare you presume my religious orientation. I’d have you know that the Father, Son and Holy Spirit all have my vote. Much better than the Tories we have milling about here.”

“Okay,” Phil says slowly. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Dan sighs. “Well...to be perfectly honest, I missed you.” He hates that he feels so vulnerable - that he’s socially conditioned into believing that men expressing feelings is strange and uncomfortable. That he’s still a bit scared that Phil will judge him for it.

Phil’s lips quirk and he flushes, no judgment in sight. “Well, in the spirit of honesty, I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed everything except your skills at Mario Kart. But I _have_ been praying for an upgrade in that area, so watch out. I’m known to be pretty tight with God.” 

They laugh for a bit. Dan surveys the church from where they stand along the pew. There are a few people, some of them _young_ even which surprises Dan since working hours do exist. Unless most people do play hooky whenever possible and Dan is the responsible one for once. Hah, take that, Ms Wilson from GCSE Geography.

The others are the usual suspects: old grannies with their eyes closed, weary-looking dads looking for some peace and quiet. 

“Do you have time to go out for some tea?” Dan asks quickly, worried that Phil has a few things to do before some reprieve. “There’s quite a nice bakery around the corner.”

“Shelly’s Cakes?” Phil grins when Dan nods. “I love her! She always gives me free muffins when I pop in. Give me a minute and I’ll join you outside.”

Dan cringes, thinking about being in close proximity to Rox again. “I’ll wait around here instead.”

Phil laughs again. Dan hates how much he likes the sound.

+

“So, what’s the deal with your parents?” Phil asks, munching on a chocolate hazelnut muffin. Dan couldn’t swindle a free one himself so he stuck to a plain butter croissant with strawberry jam. 

“There’s no deal, I guess,” Dan shrugs. “We just don’t get along all the time which is pretty typical, no?”

“I don’t think it _should_ be typical but. Anyway. Are they supportive of your career?

Dan snorts. “Oof, right to the jugular. Besides, dinner the other night should’ve told you otherwise, Phil.” 

It’s not entirely fair to them: they were expecting Dan to become a lawyer, since he was studying for it in university, and then were completely blindsided when Dan dropped out. He was 19 at that point, hopeless and alone, and his parents had to foot the cost of a flat in London while he tried to sort things out. Dan hasn’t exactly given them the easiest time over the past few years - Dan tells Phil as much.

“I feel like support should not be conditional like that,” Phil frowns. “Like it doesn’t matter if you’ve done well or not for them to cheer you on.”

“My parents and ‘cheer me on’ probably don’t belong in the same sentence. Like I said, though, I was a pretty wayward adult and they just couldn’t relate - given the fact that they’ve both had low-paying but stable jobs pretty much since they left university.”

Dan continues, “I also pretty much hated the fact that I was so reliant on them for years but had nothing to show for it. Honestly, if Bry hadn’t come along, I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Bry?” Phil asks inquisitively. “Bryan?”

“Uh. Nope, Bryony,” Dan says hesitantly. He’s not ready to talk about this at _all_. 

“Who’s that?” Phil asks. 

“You have some chocolate on your upper lip,” Dan points out instead, and gestures at where it is. Phil, the dork, basically licks every part of his lips other than the dirtied part in question and Dan spends a good few minutes directing him. 

“Argh,” Phil says, irritated. “How about you do it instead?” he asks, handing Dan a tissue.

“Fine,” Dan huffs, leaning over the table. Dan will never get over how Phil’s eyes are so arrestingly pretty, especially when they’re pinned on him. Dan wipes the chocolate (and the thought) off quickly and leans back. He feels a bit winded.

“There,” Dan says, and Phil does some jazz hands in return. 

He’s lucky that Phil picked up on that swerve and doesn’t ask about Bryony afterwards. Instead, they jump from topic to topic, conversation impressively easy. 

“You can’t just say that Santa isn’t real like that,” Phil says, affronted. 

“Why not? Will the Santa Police be out to get me?” Dan gasps, “Are they the type to imprison dissidents too? I really expected more than an authoritarian government in the North Pole but shit happens.”

Phil laughs, “God and Santa are pretty much on the same wavelength, so I’d be hypocritical to believe one exists but not the other.”

“Wait, so. You think that the person who allegedly - sorry, Phil - created the universe and everything within it is equatable to the Santa Claus who distributes presents to kids?”

“Not the same, exactly,” Phil says, as if talking to a child. “I just mean that both reward good behavior but in different ways.”

Dan shrugs. “Fair point. But it is widely known that Santa is the figment of parenthood created to persuade snotty kids - who are probably too young for a crash course in theology - to eat their vegetables and not push other kids on the playground.”

“La la la,” Phil sing-songs, plugging his ears. 

“You are legitimately one of those snotty kids I was talking about,” Dan comments, picking up stray crumbs from the table. 

They’ve been occupying seats for about two hours now and Dan can tell that Shelly is just waiting on them to clear off so she can close. She’s been quite pleasant about it though, only rushing them every five seconds. 

“We should probably go,” Dan says finally, packing up. He tries to look nonchalant about it but he’s sure the regretful tone shines through. Phil, as well, looks less than happy about parting ways. Dan likes that though - people enjoying his company. He hasn’t had that in a while.

They stand outside the bakery at a quarter past seven. “I would suggest dinner but I’m far too full for that,” Dan says, patting his belly. Besides the croissant, Shelly kept plying him with the leftover cookies and brownies, so he’s sure he doesn’t need food until Sunday at least. Fuck, Sunday - the fundraiser.

“Same,” Phil replies. “But I am a notorious snacker so you’d probably catch me creeping around my house pillaging my housemate’s cereal.”

“Oh, who do you live with?”

Phil blushes. “There’s a lady at the church, I think she’s the church coordinator -“

Dan interrupts, “A made-up title if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Yeah probably,” Phil says, narrowly dodging a young person on a bicycle. “Anyway, when I moved to London from the Isle of Man a few years ago, she offered me a room to rent in her house about five minutes from the church. Got quite lucky there; would’ve had to bunk in the church if I couldn’t find a place.”

Dan narrows his eyes, “Why were you on the Isle of Man?” Dan realises that Phil is as much an artful dodger of his past as he is. Which is strange and impressive all at once.

“I…” Phil trails off. The nearby mosque begins its _azan,_ the call for prayer. “It’s a bit late. I’ll tell you about it some other time?”

“You mean on Sunday when I’m subjected to the most awkward experience of my life since sixth form?” 

Phil grins toothily. “It won’t be _too_ bad. I’ll be there after all.”

Dan’s cheeks warm. “Yes, you will be. And you will also pretend to drag me away for an emergency when I make this signal. Look, see,” Dan says. He salutes with two fingers.

“That looks like that Hunger Games thing,” Phil comments, rather unhelpfully.

“I guess?” Dan replies, exasperated. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, you come fucking _running_ when that happens ok? Just say some cake is on fire in your house and you need me to extinguish the flame as I am a tall drink of water.” 

Dan grins when Phil makes a mock-scandalised face. “In hindsight, that sounds wildly inappropriate.”

“Wow,” Phil startles a laugh. “I am tempted to make an even more inappropriate your Mum joke but I will refrain. I am a respectable man of God after all.”

“Oof,” Dan fans himself. “Saucy stuff.”

There’s a beat of silence. “I had a good time today. We should hang out more often,” Dan says this time when their goodbye has been lingering for far too long.

“How the turn tables,” Phil says, chuffed and looking delighted at Dan’s unimpressed face. “Look, I’m a man of the memes. Multi-talented, I am.” Dan lets out a solid half-laugh in response, just enough to betray his _slight_ amusement.

“Okay bye,” Dan finally says awkwardly, waving. 

“Bye!” Phil shouts when Dan walks rapidly away. “See you Sunday,” Dan hears just when he thought he could _forget_.

+

Even with the alluring prospect of hanging out with Phil on Sunday, Dan scrambles to find an excuse. He goes to great lengths, even ringing his Nan (on vacation in Australia) to ask if she had plans on Sunday and could miraculously get herself to London in time to have lunch with him. She predictably says no, and tells Dan to stop bothering her while she’s sunbathing on the beach.

He’s run out of options by Saturday. Adrian, of course, is thrilled by the fundraiser and opts to tag along instead of dragging Dan out of it. “Why would I? I’m as generous as it comes,” he says, rather pompously. 

Immediately after, Dan sends Phil a warning text:

**_Dan_** _: told adrian abt tomorrow and now wants to come with me rip_

 **_Hot Priest:_ ** _Won’t be too bad. Maybe rox can persuade him to get on stage and sing showtunes with them_

 **_Dan_** _: i never fail to be astounded at your optimism, sir. braver than the marines._

 **_Hot Priest:_ ** _:’)_

Dan and Adrian make a very sullen pair come Sunday evening. Adrian’s apparently just been blitzed over for a promotion recently - and a very significant pay hike, Dan, this is significant to my way of life! - and is in a rotten mood. Dan, on the other hand, is annoyed by the fact that his curls look droopy today and not at all fundraiser chic. He ignores the inkling that he’s trying to look good because Phil will be around - completely ridiculous, of course.

“Hi!” Rox says immediately when she sees them, bounding over. “Glad you could clear your schedule!”

Adrian snorts, mumbles under his breath, “What schedule?” and Dan takes it upon himself to subtly elbow him in the ribs. He smiles when he hears the quiet _oof_ Adrian lets out. 

“Nice to see you too!” He gestures to Adrian. “Rox, this is Adrian. Adrian, Rox. The programme manager. I think?” He looks to her for confirmation.

“Sort of, yeah,” she says, sweeping her fringe up. “More like I run the children’s home but today, the kids are not orphans - no, they’re theatre stars!” she thrills, jazz hands included. Dan wants to drop dead from the cringe. Instead, he reminds himself it’s a _church_ event, and if he ruins it, God will send him to double hell. Is that a thing? Satan’s basement, maybe.

Dan peeks a look at Adrian, who’s oddly quiet. There’s a sort of awed look on his face, as he watches this (crazy) woman fluff her skirt approximately a hundred times while describing all their props in painstaking detail. Apparently, the blanket they’ll be using on stage during the second act was one she found in her grandma’s attic. Riveting stuff. 

Dan nudges Adrian again, watching him shrug out of whatever daze he was in. “You good?” Dan whispers. 

“Uh huh,” Adrian mumbles. He clears his throat and begins asking Rox about the script and the kids. Dan’s literally never seen him take any interest in anything artsy - in fact, he’s been quite derisive about stuff like that before - so this is strange. Dan’s not too bothered, though - if Rox is preoccupied with his boring brother, then he can go spend more time with Phil. 

He tunes back into the conversation only to notice that the pair have wandered off without him. Dan shrugs and takes stock of the event. It’s not only a show, though that is the main event, but it’s a proper carnival. With game booths, twirly fries and cotton candy - his trifecta of heaven.

“Boo!” someone says behind him, and Dan startles, clutching his chest.

“You motherf-” Dan exclaims, going to shove him into the nearest hedge. 

“Ah, ah!” Phil shrieks, dodging his hand. “Priest alert! Priest alert!”

Dan laughs, advances unrelenting. “You’ve gotta know that I don’t give a shit that you’re a priest, pal. Anyone deserves to pay penance for sneaking up on someone else. Especially when that someone else is a _friend_ here to _be charitable_.” 

In their fumbles, Dan manages to land a good punch on Phil’s forearm, and Phil’s fingers come up immediately to tangle with Dan’s. “Ow, stop. Please. Mercy!”

Dan’s eyes zero onto their intertwined fingers and quickly pulls back. “Letting you off the hook this time, Philly. Remember my generosity.”

Phil laughs, pink-cheeked. They stand awkwardly for a bit, staring at each other before Phil gets called by someone in a severely yellow dress. “Give me one sec, Rach,” Phil says to her before turning his attention back to Dan. “Sorry, duty calls.” 

“No, no, go ahead! I’ll be around. When in doubt, find me near the ring toss,” Dan says, shooing Phil away when he lingers. 

Of all the outcomes that he envisioned for the day, he never imagined ending up wandering around a field alone. Adrian’s standing somewhere near Rox and they’re enjoying themselves by the looks of it. Dan doesn’t want to interrupt, but he also wants to because _Hanna_ , remember? But it seems like a platonic conversation by the looks of it - Adrian is standing a full 3 feet away with his arms crossed - so it’s not like anything is happening.

Besides, he doesn’t really want to be awkwardly hit on by any more women, so standing by himself seems like a good plan. He just wonders where Phil is. They haven’t crossed paths since Phil left to put out Ms _Banana’s_ fire, which was about forty-five minutes ago. In that space of time, Dan was able to win the egg-in-a-spoon race twice and got two helpings of cotton candy. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice booms from the stage. Dan’s lucky that he was already wandering nearby, so he’s able to get a pretty decent view of the podium. It’s Phil speaking, and Dan’s intrigued to see Phil speak in public, given that he’d rather drop dead than voluntarily listen to one of Phil’s sermons. The extent he’d go to for Phil is entering the church and no more.

“Hello, how are y’all doing?” Phil asks rather uselessly, since a smattering of the crowd mutter their respective answers under their breath.

“Good, Phil!” Phil replies, in a high-pitched voice. The crowd laughs and Phil visibly loosens up a bit. “Thank you for volunteering to host this event with no paid compensation!”

“Wow! You’re welcome, dear Lucy,” Phil replies to himself in his regular voice. Some of the kids are in stitches, and Dan’s heart warms at the sight. He wonders how Phil takes to entertaining a crowd so easily; he makes a note to ask him about it someday.

“We’re all here today to make contributions to Angel Orphanage in East London so that some of the kids can watch a play on the West End. Instead of simply asking for donations, the children have all collaborated to put on this production for us. This is a remake of the Wizard of Oz by the twelve to fifteen year-olds at Angel Orphanage, one of the best homes the church has had the good fortune of partnering with. Thank you, guys, in advance, for the excellent show you are about to put on. 

“As it says in Matthew, chapter seven, verses seven and eight: ‘Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you: For every one that asks receives; and he that seeks finds; and to him that knocks it shall be opened.’ It goes without saying that you kids have asked, and you will receive. Thank you everyone, have a good day!”

Phil leaves the stage amidst uproarious applause. The show begins; the narrator, a young boy, steps up to the front and starts speaking. Before long, Phil appears beside Dan, amiably bumping his shoulder. “Didn’t do too badly, did I?” 

Dan scoffs. “You knew you were amazing. Stop fishing for compliments.”

Someone nearby shushes them and Dan rolls his eyes. Typical theatre snobs. 

“Y’wanna go somewhere else?” Phil whispers in his ear, and Dan tries not to shudder - Phil’s a _friend_ full stop and nothing else. He nods instead, taking quick stock of where Adrian is so they can find him later. Dan doesn’t think too much about where Phil is taking him - he wouldn’t be totally surprised if Phil was bringing him to the secret well where dead bodies were hidden - but is pleasantly surprised when he sees a small bench in a secluded part of the field. 

“Hi,” Phil says, when they sit.

“Hello,” Dan replies, just as stupidly. “Nice speech. Really.”

Phil grins. “Thank god no one could see the way I was trembling. Pretty sure my palms were so sweaty the mic would’ve fallen if I wasn’t gripping hard.”

“You could’ve always said the mic drop was intentional, though.”

Phil giggles. “The mic falling during the Bible verse wouldn’t have been amusing, I bet. Matthew,” Phil mimes fumbling with the mic, “seven. Whoopsie.”

“Yeah that wouldn’t have been so good,” Dan agrees, shuffling closer to him. It isn’t too cold yet - only the start of September now - but more warmth is appealing whatever the circumstance. 

“That woman. Who called you before. Who is she?”

Phil smiles. “Oh! That’s Margaret. The woman I’m living with.”

“With the fake job?” Dan supplies.

“Yes,” Phil says, amused. “Though, I guess she mostly deals with handling our events. Like weddings, fundraisers, Sunday school, etcetera.” Phil sighs. “She’s the best, honestly. And I told you the other day about the whole almost-homeless thing.”

“Do you want to talk about it or not?”

Phil angles himself towards Dan. “I’m not sure where to start, really.”

Dan’s quick to reassure him, hating the way Phil’s voice is wobbling. “You _really_ don’t have to tell me! Blame my snoopiness on being a journalist, I swear.”

Phil sighs and is quiet for a while. Dan doesn’t mind. In the background, they can hear faint dialogue from the stage - a pretend witch cackling, and an argument. The rest of the field is empty, with everyone having migrated to the front of the stage. Crucially, though, the popcorn stall is left unattended to, and it sparks Dan into action.

“Actually instead of the whole backstory sharing sesh, would you be interested in committing a crime with me?” Dan asks, a small smirk on his face.

Phil looks _relieved -_ which Dan was counting on since Dan’s a dick who can’t help but make things uncomfortable and awkward - but hesitant. “Crime? How...bad?”

“A secret, of course!” Dan says with gravitas, standing with a flourish. “You coming?”

“ _Honestly_ ,” Phil says, begrudgingly getting up, “if I lose my position in the clergy because of you, I will haunt you daily.”

“Can you haunt someone when you’re still alive?” Dan muses.

“I’ll find a way,” Phil says ominously, but he chuckles anyway. At the stage, he sees the crowd slowly dispersing because the ten-minute intermission has just begun. Fuck, Dan thinks, they’ve got to be fast. They pick up the pace slightly.

“Phil! Guard the stall!” Dan instructs when they arrive. Phil whispers furiously, “What are you _doing_!” but goes to guard the stall with wild eyes anyway. Dan can’t help but smile at Phil’s loyalty as his hands pick up two cups and fill them both with sweet caramel popcorn. 

Phil’s eyes widen at that. “ _What_. We’re going to get arrested, I swear. We’ll have to live our last days in a jail cell and you know what the worst thing about prison is? - the dementors!” Phil rambles, eyes darting around the compound.

Dan laughs. “Prison Mike!”

“Quick - the dude’s coming,” Phil warns, just as a voice behind them booms, “Mates! Y’stealing from my shop!” Yes, _clearly_ , Dan wants to retort. But that would be bad piled on something already bad, so he refrains himself.

“Fuck, fuck!” Dan exclaims instead, pulling Phil by the shirt and rushing away. “Run, bitch!” Dan says, feeling his heart pound and his feet hitting the grass at a speed unknown to mankind (or to Dan, at least). Some of the popcorn falls to the ground as he runs waywardly, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. He turns to see Phil catching up to him, cackling wildly.

The burly man chases behind them, shouting mean slurs, but loses sight of them after a while when they duck behind a tree. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dan says, “that was close.” He’s grinning wildly and can’t seem to stop.

“Fuck,” Phil agrees. 

“ _Phil!_ ” Dan admonishes. “That is not priestly behaviour.”

“Neither is stealing popcorn at a fundraiser but it seems you have enabled me anyway,” Phil replies, grinning even with the touch of anxiety in his tone. They both sit down on the dewy grass, Dan peeking over his shoulder to check if anyone has spotted them - to his relief, no one is within their proximity.

“It’d be ok - you know that right? We can even pay that man back later if you want,” Dan says softly to Phil, touching his shoulder.

He shouldn’t have presumed Phil would be okay with things like this: mischievous things Dan gets up to when he’s bored. He’s not a Bryony-substitute, Dan reminds himself. This is someone he barely knows and Dan just implicated him in a _crime_ \- even if it is a minor one. He’s a terrible human being. 

“S’fine, I doubt he saw our faces,” Phil says finally, shaking his head. “Let’s just enjoy the popcorn when we can. Make it worth it.”

“I think doing fun things with you is worth plenty,” Dan mumbles. 

“I agree,” Phil says softly back. He takes an audible breath. “My father had cancer.”

Dan’s head spins from the sudden change in subject. It takes a while for the words to sink in, but when they do, he hauls Phil into a hug - popcorn be damned. It takes a lot of bravery to open up to someone, let alone someone you’ve only known for a few weeks, but he’s glad the wall is coming down now. 

“Okay,” Dan says. He waits. 

“It was a rare form of blood cancer. Aggressive. We didn’t think he’d live past 60.”

They take a breath together. The wind rustles the leaves in the hedge, and Dan’s pretty sure there’s a thorn pricking his side. Still, he doesn’t move. 

Act two has just begun, from the sound of a narrator ushering everyone back to their seats and the shuffling feet that follow. Dan has Phil for about thirty more minutes before the show ends, at which point reality will come trickling back in.

“I was working at a film studio in Manchester when I heard. It was my _big_ break, you know. A way to feed myself while doing something that made me happy. The film we were editing -” Phil breaks off to chuckle wetly, “was a horror film about Frankenstein’s kid. Who had to live with his father’s monster at home.”

Dan laughs. He remembers an old homemade video with him and Adrian, where they pretended to go around their home looking for ghosts at night. Obviously there weren’t any - though Dan would still insist he heard someone grunt in his ear! - but it was still so fun. And there weren’t many fun moments where the Howell siblings were involved, so it was special.

“When I heard, I dropped everything to be with him on the Isle of Man. When he got worse, I quit my job and moved there temporarily - to see him through the chemo and radiation. Mum and him always insisted I stay where I was. To keep working. But I couldn’t y’know - this was my _father_.”

Dan knows, deep down, that it would hurt if his father got sick as well. Despite their turbulent relationship, and his father’s _vibrant_ vocabulary when he was fuming, he would be scared if he got sick. And sad if he died. But to drop everything to support him is something Dan doesn’t think he’d be tempted to consider - and it says a lot about Phil’s loyalty to his family that he did.

“Yeah, Phil,” Dan says, to show he’s still listening, enraptured.

“Yeah. So. I moved back home. You see - I wasn’t a very religious person before all that. I went to Sunday school every once in a while. I read a page or two of the Bible when my mum asked. But, I moved - no income, no purpose - I frequented the nearby church. I had nothing else to do anyway, and I preferred that to being at home sometimes and having to watch Dad suffer. Is that selfish?”

Dan’s heart clenches. “I don’t think so. You’re allowed to have breaks, Phil. Emotional breaks. And I’m glad the church was that to you.”

Phil sighs. “It really was. I made friends with one of the reverends. He had a Masters in Theology from Edinburgh, which he kept bringing up,” Phil laughs, shakes his head, “Anyway, he taught me a lot about what believing in a higher power can bring to you. Even in the darkest of times. Some days, he sent me to the altar with a Bible shoved in my hand, and asked me to talk aloud about what the different verses meant to me. He wouldn’t even be in the room - it was just me talking to God. It was more therapeutic than depressing, I swear.”

They laugh for a bit. “So that was it? That was the start of your _calling_ , so to speak?” Dan asks. 

Phil nods, looking momentarily dazed. “I remember one day, the doctor pulled me aside. Told me he barely had a couple of weeks and that we should be considering palliative care -” Phil’s voice cracks, “to make things easier.”

“I went straight to the church after. Sat in the confession, Reverend Micah on the other side, and talked about everything. And nothing. Nothing of substance, really. Just rambled on about random memories of myself and Martyn - my brother - with Dad. Cycling around the park, the rack we built with the drill he got me for my birthday. How I wish I told him I was gay.”

“ _What_?” Dan gasps. 

“Surprise?” Phil smiles sadly with limp jazz hands. “Yeah, can you believe the first person I really came out to was a _priest_? The best coming out story right there.”

“Phil - what. You’re gay? And you’re subscribed to, and actively preach about, a religion that largely doesn’t accept anyone queer? A religion that wouldn’t accept _you_ for it?” 

Dan’s baffled - growing up religious meant witnessing the public ostracisation of the queer firsthand, of coming across videos of conversion camps across the world. How the Church had the potential to break up relationships, romantic or otherwise.

Phil winces. “It’s not that, though. I understand that the clergy, and followers, have a lot to learn about acceptance and tolerance. I also know that religious speech is usually invoked by homophobic people. But the Christianity that I know, and believe in, precedes “love thy neighbour” above all else. Irrespective of race, religion, sexual orientation, gender. I will not let the perversion of our holy script stop me from helping people through transitional periods and difficult times, just as Reverend Micah did for me.”

A song rings out then, just as Dan’s eyes mist up. The last song: Over the Rainbow. Very fitting for the conversation, Dan comments and Phil agrees. Phil helps him to his feet then, as the crowd applauses the excellent play - of which, Dan has seen exactly zero minutes. 

Dan says, “I’m glad you told me that, Phil. I’m sorry if I seemed sceptical...I guess? And that you had to defend your position.”

“It’s a valid question,” he replies. “And one I struggle with daily. The idea that religious conversion camps are still a thing and that queer people are being persecuted on the basis of religion are difficult to come to terms with.”

Dan sees Adrian wandering around the field, the show having just ended. He’s still chatting to Rox, and a few others in a group, but Dan knows that they have to go soon for a family dinner at their Mum and Dad’s. It’ll be a painful one, he’d bet, but he still has to go and pretend to be a filial son. The situation between him and Phil still feels so raw, which is why Dan’s hesitant to leave. 

“Do you want to come have dinner with us?” Dan asks then.

“With Adrian?”

“No - actually yes, Adrian, Mum and Dad.”

Phil’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? Why would your parents want me there?”

Dan smiles, “I reckon they’d want to see you more than me.” It’s true - his parents love having guests over. Dan suspects it’s because guests are easier to handle than their own irritable sons. Or _son_ \- Adrian doesn’t count since he’s the golden boy after all. “Mum would probably make a whole roast if she found out you’re coming along. You need to stay fed and content for the wedding.”

“You make it sound like _I’m_ getting married here,” Phil jokes, standing up and patting over the dirt stains on his trousers. He looks around the field, at the group of people standing by the booth set up by the church. “Sorry, though, I can’t. I forgot that I _actually_ have responsibilities here, believe it or not.”

Dan tries not to look as disappointed as he is. “Aw, well. That’s ok. Mum’s roast isn’t that good anyway.”

Phil laughs. “Thanks. For the invite. And, uh, for listening.”

Adrian spots them and walks in their direction. Dan replies, “Of course. Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re a good guy, Dan. I don’t know why you keep selling yourself short all the time - you deserve more credit,” Phil says earnestly, and Dan can’t meet his eyes. It’s probably a normal priestly thing to do: to compliment people when they don’t deserve it, just to make them feel better about their circumstances. 

“Priests aren’t supposed to lie,” Dan retorts, dimpling. 

“I’m not,” Phil murmurs, just as Adrian comes up beside them. “Where were you guys? ‘ve been looking for ageeesss, _Jesus_ ,” Adrian admonishes.

Dan snorts, “Thought you were too caught up with your new _friend_ to notice anyone else.” 

Adrian flushes spectacularly. “Not true! Not true!” he exclaims, as he tries to poke Dan in the ribs to sufficiently distract him from the discussion.

They play-fight for a minute, Adrian trying to shove some leftover popcorn (from Dan and Phil’s crime extravaganza) down the back of Dan’s shirt. Dan narrowly avoids it, shoves Adrian away instead. When Dan looks around next, Phil’s gone. Off to do actual work, Dan thinks with a sigh. 

“Wait so, you were chatting with Phil the whole time?” Adrian asks, confused. “Y’sure that’s a good idea?” Always with the direct questions, that one is. 

“Yeah?” Dan shrugs.

Adrian levels him with a stern look. “This is not one of the guys you can fuck and chuck, alright? Since that seems to be your MO with cute boys in recent months.”

“Who says _fuck and chuck_ unironically,” Dan muses aloud. As well, he stamps on Adrian’s foot - a visceral outlet for his frustration. “Also, I’m not _nearly_ terrible enough to shag a friend.” They both know the last time he fucked a friend, it ended very, _very_ badly. “Again,” Dan adds, like an afterthought.

Adrian hums. “If you say so. If I didn’t know you any better, I could’ve sworn you might’ve had genuine feelings for him. Imagine that.”

Dan refuses to think about it. Now, given the fact that Phil’s _gay_ (something he’s still struggling to wrap his mind around) it occurs absently to him that, technically, Phil could be interested in _something_ with him. Except he’s not, though. Dan hasn’t exactly heard Phil explicitly say he’s celibate, but it is heavily implied by virtue of his profession. A profession that saved him from an extremely painful time, and therefore, has strong connections to. Connections that Dan couldn’t possibly cause him to break, intentionally or not.

“I don’t.”

Adrian nods. “Good. You and I both know it wouldn’t end well if you did.”

+

The next morning Dan wakes up fairly sloshed.

Their cousin, Sus, came over for dinner with the Howells, and they made a discreet pact to take a swig of gin everytime Dan’s mum mentioned the wedding bouquet. Needless to say, within two hours, they’d both finished a whole bottle.

Dan stumbles over his furniture on his way to the kitchen, barely managing to keep upright a beautiful vase balancing precariously on the edge of his bedside table. “Fuck,” he says to himself, massaging his temples. He doesn’t typically get _this_ drunk - but desperate re-wedding bride times call for desperate re-wedding party measures. 

He pokes the coffee pot twice before he realises he’s pressing on the glass instead of the buttons. Then, he accidentally spills boiling hot water on his arm and flails around trying to numb the pain. Suffice to say, it hurts for a while. 

Over breakfast, Dan catches sight of a book in his coat pocket. The coat is hung on the rack by the front door, and the top of the book (journal? printed fanfiction?) peeks out the side. He didn’t notice it all of last night, having dumped the coat on his shoes in his haste to embrace the warmth in his parents’ house. 

“What’s this?” Dan wonders aloud, and he’s glad he lives alone. His propensity to converse with himself is eccentric in some circles, but strange to most flatmates. PJ always used to quirk his brow whenever he caught Dan talking to himself in the mirror. 

He tries to grab the coat, missing the first time because he’s technically seeing double. He shakes his head and tries again, his fingers finally grasping the edge of the coat. He takes the book out, and almost laughs at what it is - _almost_ laughs because he doesn’t think he can handle that level of cognitive processing at the moment. 

Dan grabs his phone.

**_Dan:_ ** _Phi whi iz there bibel in me pocket ??_

“Good enough,” Dan muses. Fuck, he realises it’s _Monday_ \- a working day. He shoots a quick text to his boss as well (trying extra hard to prevent typos) to feign an illness. He picks food poisoning in lieu of ‘too drunk to keep my eyes open right now.’

Dan flicks the Bible open, having only ever read pages of it at a time. It’s strange to have a copy of it in his home, though - the lair of sins, if there ever was one. He is tempted to keep it in the side drawer, like any dodgy hotel would, and never think about it. But then again, Phil must’ve lent him it for a reason. Like he might think Dan would benefit from a read.

Dan’s always been agnostic, it feels like. Ever since he was younger, it was altogether too easy to associate religion with having to dress neatly on Sundays, and not talk back in class, and repeating the same verses over and over again. And then later, when he was at the height of puberty, the only thing holy to him was Gerard Way’s voice. Then, being gay happened, and a lot of other issues came into focus.

But he’s a lot older now, a lot more affirmed in his sexuality (and political leaning), and at a point where he’s more intrigued by the idea of religion than uncomfortable by it. Which is the only reason that explains why, after he’s shaken off the unbearable hangover, he draws himself a hot bath, makes some warm tea, and settles in for a bit of reading. 

+

“I gasped at various parts,” Dan says honestly, when Phil calls him the next day.

“Wow,” Phil replies. “Even I wasn’t _that_ moved by it, and, don’t forget, I’m the priest in this relationship.”

Dan ignores the phrase - it’s obviously friendship that Phil meant. “How can I forget when you’re the type of person to slip a Bible in someone’s pocket after a heart-to-heart.”

“Did you get any peace from it though?” Phil asks earnestly.

“Meh,” Dan says, and laughs when Phil lets out an affronted noise. “I mean. It was nice, I guess. It would matter more to me if I was a ‘believer’ - yes, I’m doing the air quotes here - but still ok nonetheless. It was calming in the sense that it reminded me that the end is near.”

“Uh -” Phil says, and Dan can envision him scratching his scalp, “yeah, it might help thinking that you only have a fleeting time on Earth and that you should make the most of it by doing good things.”

“Way to spin it, Phil. As I keep saying, I love your optimism.”

“ _Hey_ , optimism was the only thing that got me through my Dad’s illness, ok. Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“Is that a Northern thing?” Dan can’t help but joke. “‘sides, I’ve got no reason to be optimistic, Phil. I don’t want to be all _woe is me_ bullshit, but remember one of the quotes from the Pride and Prejudice movie - have you watched that, by the way, a masterpiece - when Charlotte said _“I’m 27 years old. I’ve no money and prospects. I’m already a burden to my parents.”_ I feel like that all the time.”

“The fact that you remember that verbatim is the scary thing,” Phil retorts.

“She eventually married a priest, you know. So she lived a sadder life thereafter,” Dan laughs.

“Did you like drama? In school, I mean?” Phil comments, after a short lull of silence.

“Ok, random. But yeah, I guess. I liked acting and the attention it gave me, I suppose,” Dan says. 

“You’d make a good actor, you know. Sometimes I think I can imagine you as a protagonist in one of my films. Maybe one of those about a self-deprecating man being eaten by a monster and it ends up being this crappy metaphor about letting your insecurities devour you. Or something.”

Dan laughs. “How low-budget are we talking?”

“Very low,” Phil says, deepening his voice as well. It’s a gravelly tone that Dan quite likes. “We’d have to film at my parents’ house on my cheap DSLR. You’d have to stay on the Isle overnight.”

“And would your parents object to a random man sleeping over at their house?” Dan asks, vaguely flirty, he realises. 

“I think my parents have caught me with enough men to trust that I know what I’m doing,” Phil says with a laugh, perhaps feeling awkward himself.

“I still can’t get over that, by the way.”

“That I’m gay?” Phil asks. Dan can sense the grin from over the phone. “I didn’t think I was hiding it pretty well.”

“What do you _mean_!” Dan says, indignant. “You never spoke about your sexuality at all.”

“Because I’m not supposed to?” Phil says, like a question tacked on with a sigh. “I mean priests are (a) presumed to be straight and (b) celibate anyway so it makes no difference who I’m actually attracted to.”

“Is that hard - the whole...celibacy thing? Sorry, is that insensitive?” Dan asks hesitantly.

“I feel like _hard_ is a word I’d use,” Phil replies, with a cheeky tone. “Really, I don’t think about it much. Even before joining the seminary, I wasn’t having tons of sex anyway. It’s a relationship that I miss, though. I’d take cuddling over kissing any day.”

Dan laughs at the fact that they’re polar opposites. Dan’s worst fear is commitment but is physically allowed to be in a relationship; vice versa for Phil. “That’s interesting. I don’t think I relate, and it’s probably insensitive to be _sorry_ for you now that you’re in a good place, but I’m sure it’s difficult nonetheless.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But I don’t really think about it. The only times I do are when I see a cute couple on the street, or want to go on those rollercoasters with two-person seats.”

“Ah, yes, real existential worries,” Dan says. “But what if you meet someone you like?” He’s probably pushing here but he can’t help it. He also trusts that Phil knows what he is and isn’t willing to share.

Phil hesitates, taking an audible breath. “I talk and laugh and give them Bibles. And hope they eventually leave me alone.”

Dan’s heart stutters. Phil continues hurriedly, “I like being friends with you, though. Whatever the case. Since you’ve been around, I’ve felt the least lonely since I moved to London.” 

That’s that, then. Dan says, keeping his tone neutral, “So you want me around for your own benefit, huh. I see you, Mr. Priest.”

“You actually _can’t_ see me since we’re chatting on the phone,” Phil replies, obviously trying to be a smart-arse. “Anyway, I wanted to say that -” There is some commotion in Phil’s background. “Soz, Mags’ calling me from downstairs.”

Dan sighs imperceptibly. “Yeah, go put out the fire. Ciao, matey.”

Phil laughs softly. “Bye. Talk to you soon.”

Dan’s cheeks are stupidly warm when he puts his phone down on his bedside table, the Bible right there next to his glass of water. He didn’t want to mention to Phil that he had mostly skimmed through it, eyes glazing over the long verses. At least he tried, though, and gained some solace from it. Not as much peace as he’d usually get from, say, an orgasm, but better than he expected nonetheless.

He gets another call then, and he picks up without looking, expecting it to be Phil again.

“What happened? False alarm?” he says immediately. 

“Hello?” someone _distinctly female_ says. 

“Mum,” Dan croaks, surprised. “You don’t _call_ people, last I remember. Only harangue them through text.”

His mum scoffs. “I called because you didn’t answer said texts. About hiring a band to play at the wedding.”

“Vow renewal,” Dan corrects immediately. “And yes, I didn’t answer because I don’t know any bands, and it’s not my responsibility to book one anyway.”

“How do you not know _any_ bands?” his mum says, exasperated. “What about all those bands you liked growing up? Why not invite one of those?”

Dan laughs, stupefied. “Two things, Mum: first, those are emo punk bands, as in, they scream for a living. Second, bold of you to assume I’m on speaking terms with them. Like I can call one of the main guys, Gerard, and just say, “Hey buddy, you in London? Got a random wedding for you to attend and perform at. We’ll pay minimum wage!””

Dan can sense his Mum’s frown from across the city. “You’re not helping. And we need help, alright. Our wedding planner’s gone off her rocker! She’s just called me to say that we’d need to have bloody _freesias_ at our wedding because anything else and we’d go over budget - the audacity of that woman!” She’s seething by the end of it. 

“Okay…” Dan says placidly. “Well, you know… you could just...increase the budget perhaps.”

“Well, I bloody well _could_ but that’s being defeated on principle! She must find a way to have everything I want within our budget - that’s like her job, innit?”

Dan uses that to circle back to the problem at hand. “So is hiring a band, madam.”

“Look, dear -” She only uses that phrase to appear sugary sweet while concurrently guilting Dan into bending to her every whim; Dan’s on high alert. “This could be our last wedding, our last _event_ , before Nan passes. Her last adventure, so to speak. Wouldn’t you want to make it grand as well?”

Dan sighs. She’s too good at this. “If your only defense is the fact that Nan is ninety-two, therefore, won’t live to see another useless wedding renewal, it’s a very weak argument.”

“But…” Mum interjects.

“But,” Dan relents. “I’ll do it. Fine. Ugh.”

“Great!” she says, mood significantly improved. Dan smiles at that anyway - he doesn’t want his Mum run ragged because of this dumb wedding. Though, the fact that she’s worried about the re-wedding means that she’s not worried about him, so that’s a big plus anyway. 

“Okay, classical yeah? A bit of jazz - some RnB to get the juices flowing?” Dan grins. “Some ‘Murder on the Dance Floor’?”

“You better not kill the groove,” his Mum sings in reply, because it’d be rude (and frankly, unpatriotic) not to. “Ok, fine. I allow you full reign. Just please - none of the rap fuddy duddy that you’re into.”

“Who uses that term?” Dan wonders aloud. 

“I do,” Mum says, finality in her tone. “Thanks, dear. You’re a gem.”

“Only when I’m doing you a favour,” Dan replies with a grin. 

“Yes. Oh wait, also you and Adrian are in-charge of Dad’s bachelor party, by the way! Have fun - ta!”

“ _Fuck_! Mum!” Dan says, even though the phone’s been put down in a hurry. He’s well aware his Mum springs things onto them as penance for inhabiting her womb ages ago, but this is next level, really. Not to mention the fact that his Dad hasn’t been a bachelor in thirty years, and probably won’t be for the rest of his life.

He resolves to send Adrian a text, explaining that he’s got a life to live (somewhat) so Adrian can deal with the party while he deals with the band - he’s still not sure how to go about that one, but it seems like the lesser of two evils. He also sends a cryptic message to his Nan saying it’s all her fault. Before he caves and asks her what she wants for her birthday - _not the iPad, please, Nan._

As he’s drifting off to sleep an hour later, he thinks about someone having their last adventure without knowing it. And how tragic life is even before death, sometimes, and how no one tells you how to deal with both.

+

A few days later, his boss, Reina, knocks on the door of his teeny office. Basically the size of a regular toilet cubicle, if he’s honest, but it pays the bills, so. It’s the sort of thing you keep to yourself. 

“ _Mate_ ,” she drawls. Dan thinks she fancies herself one of the lads, and probably feels like she has to, given the number of balding, middle-aged men who work for her. It’s a different kind of challenge, she’s said to him before, about being a female boss. There are the regular responsibilities of the job, but the added pressure of trying to outperform your male counterparts in order to justify why you’ve been given the job instead of them in the first place. She’s also Muslim - another layer of discrimination to traverse.

“Hi, Rei,” Dan says amicably. She’s easily one of the best people he knows in the office.

“I edited your draft article - the one about _bloody_ BoJo and Russia - with some comments. Good work overall, but I think you need to focus on the message a bit more consistently since it gets a bit muddled in certain bits.”

Dan sighs. He really hasn’t felt on his game this past week. He chalks it down to his family, and all the stress that’s come with it. It’s not adequate enough to explain the pang of sadness every time he breathes, it feels like - that’s because Bryony would’ve turned 31 this week. No, nope, resolutely _not_ thinking about that.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll get it revised and sent back to you by the end of the day,” Dan says with a small frown. He’s itching to grab another cup of coffee - his fourth of the day - and to get back to work.

“Hey -” she says then, lingering by the door. 

“Yep, do you need anything else?”

“Are you alright?” she asks hesitantly.

“Mm,” Dan hums. “No different than usual,” he says through gritted teeth.

“S’just. Gutted you didn’t join us at the game night yesterday - and you _know_ how much you love slagging off Jamie during Monopoly.”

“That’s because Jamie always cheats and pretends not to,” Dan snorts. “And I wasn’t having...a good evening. Mentally. Sorry I passed.” What Dan means to say is that he was too numb to get out of his work clothes yesterday, and stared at his ceiling until about four in the morning. He dragged himself to work afterwards because he recovers faster when he forces himself to be productive. And to distract himself from everything wrong.

“Ah, well. We missed you, though. I think it wasn’t as fun without you squealing when you lose,” Reina says with a sad smile. Dan’s glad they think highly enough of him that his presence is _missed_ \- he doubts he could say the same about his own family, but he also has a sinking feeling she’s just saying this to make him feel better. Whatever it is - he’d accept anyway. It’s been too shit of a day so far to turn down nice gestures.

“Thank you,” he says, plastering on a genuine smile. He’s feeling a bit more emotionally attached now, which means he’s mostly recovered from last night’s episode. “I’m feeling better, don’t worry.”

“Good to hear.” Rei gives him a tight smile and a salute, then walks back to her office. Dan hates the fact that she had to come all the way to him because she was concerned - he’s not used to people going out of their way to make sure he’s alright.

That’s the thing about depression, though. When he was first diagnosed, he pushed away most of the people he loved - family, the friends he had left after Bryony, and PJ. Sometimes he feels he literally drove PJ away to Brighton, where he now stays with his fiance, because he was being so shitty to him. Moody and mad and breaking things. Staying in bed until mid-day and ignoring PJ’s worried calls.

Everything about that time fills him with so much shame and guilt, that he mostly thinks he’s better off alone.

At least then, there’s no one there to disappoint.

+

Phil invites him over to his (Margaret’s) house that weekend. When Dan arrives, stepping foot out of his Uber, his jaw quite literally drops.

“You know, I don’t think I have a size kink - but _this. Phil_ , what the fuck. Is Mags an heiress or summat?” Dan asks the moment Phil opens the door.

Phil looks flustered a bit, cheeks going red like he’s embarrassed by how wealth-adjacent he is. “Well, er. I suppose? Her husband was an earl.”

If at all possible, Dan’s jaw drops further. “Wow, ok. I hate the aristocracy even more now,” Dan says, gesturing at the grandeur of the foyer, fancy crown moulding on the high ceilings, the fancy sofa. It looks right out of a short story he started (and scrapped) about family drama in Victorian London. “I hate this. I really hate how the upholstery looks like the softest thing I’ve ever seen - do you think she’d mind if I sat on it?”

“No, go ahead,” Phil says, shrugging. “Pretty sure I’ve spilt some milk on one of the cushions, so, if you can keep that secret, I can keep yours.”

Dan body-slams onto the pricey (he can just tell by the way it _feels_ ) fabric, and nestles himself into one of the back cushions. “Why didn’t you invite me earlier? Inviting a poor peasant into a fancy home is the best subversion of capitalism, didn’t you know?”

Phil laughs, taking the seat next to Dan’s strewn legs. “I dunno. Felt a bit weird inviting you here when we tend to have ten-pound meals at small bistros.”

Dan sighs. “I get what you mean - being around this level of vanity is discomfiting.”

“S’just excessive,” Phil supplies. Dan nods.

“Is it only you two living here now? Where’s her family gone?” Dan asks, peering around. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else at home - barring the occasional staff he sees poking his head from the backroom. 

“Her husband passed away a few years ago in a tragic accident. While boating or something. No kids either, so she was left all alone. One of her friends used to volunteer at the church and brought her along one day, and she found a new home,” Phil says with a smile. “I met her on my first day, having moved fairly suddenly after graduating from the seminary. I just - it was hard to consider moving back to the Isle since Dad had recovered by then. It felt like I would’ve been regressing? Anyway, I didn’t want to stay in Manchester either - London seemed like the best option.”

“Definitely must’ve been, if this is your crib,” Dan says, laughing. “Sad to hear about Mags though - is she around?”

“She left earlier to the shops. She insisted on making you dinner because she said, and I quote, “I’ve never met any of your mates before.” Just pretend you’re religious too, and she’ll be on her best behaviour,” Phil says.

Dan gasps. “Me, a pious churchgoer? Blasphemy!”

“Don’t think that’s the right term, but ok,” Phil says soothingly. “Anyway, I did invite you here because we have access to a big flatscreen, and I’m thinking tonight is a great time to rewatch Captain America.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re gay but you always remind me,” Dan jokes, shifting forward to peer into one of the cylinders on the living room table. His face screws up in disgust. “Please don’t tell me these M&Ms are from the 90s. There’s mould!”

“Uh,” Phil says, his face next to Dan’s now. “Maybe? Mags doesn’t really like cleaning - nor do her waitstaff really.”

“Ooh, does she have a butler?”

Phil points to a handheld bell by one of the chairs. “What do you think?”

“Ew, rich family things,” Dan replies. “Hey, is your family wealthy?”

Phil turns to face him. He adjusts the throw pillow he’s leaning against before saying, “I’m not sure if wealthy is the right term. Like obviously my brother didn’t go to Oxford -” Dan glares at him, “ok fine - loans exist, I agree. But like we could afford most things, and I didn’t have to worry about not having food on the table. I got nice toys and a good education. Not much to complain about.”

“Hm, sounds nice,” Dan says, a bit jealous. “What does your brother do?”

“Martyn’s a web designer most days. A professional roadie on others,” Phil says with a warm grin. He clearly adores his family, which - even on Dan’s most cynical days - is nice to see.

“Roadie? What - does he work for a band or something?” Dan asks, as someone walks in with two cups of tea. 

Phil explains that all guests at Mags’ house have tea whether they like it or not. And, even then, not tea tailored to their preferences - only green tea because it’s good at “getting rid of bad juju”, whatever that means.

“Anyway, you were saying - roadie?”

"Oops,” Phil says, remembering the conversation. He hastily pulls away from the rim of the cup and it sloshes a bit over his hands. “Told you I’ve spilled things here before.”

“You buffoon,” Dan comments, thrusting a few tissues in his direction. 

“Ah well,” Phil continues, once he’s cleaned up. “My brother’s girlfriend - actually, that’s too mild a word given that they’ve been together practically forever - she’s a musician actually. She makes kind of pop-y music with the synth beat, um?”

Dan barks out a laugh. “I love hearing non-musical people say musical things.”

“I’m trying!” Phil says, laughing too. “Anyway, she makes good music and has gigs around the UK sometimes. Next time she does, I’ll invite you along.”

“It’s a date,” Dan says without thinking. And there’s pregnant silence as Dan’s trying to figure out something to say, before it hits him: “Wait, would she be willing to perform at weddings, you think?”

The tension dissipates somewhat. “I don’t think she has, but she might like the challenge. Why, what are you thinking?”

“My mum wants me to hire a band for the re-wedding. And when I tried to turn her down, she sprung the whole “your family needs you” card on me. Which always works, no matter how much I hate it.”

“That sucks. Cornelia is pretty good at performing, though, and she knows tons of old tunes by heart. Her and my brother go to karaoke together sometimes, and just sing each other old 60s love songs.”

“Such hetero yuckiness. Romance begone,” Dan says, throwing his hands out. 

“When's the last time you were in a relationship?” Phil asks, taking a sip of tea. Dan can see through his little facade of nonchalance; the way his fingers are twitching against his trousers a dead giveaway. Dan supposes it’s an awkward question to ask anyone, friend or not.

“Proper relationship - maybe about two years ago?” His name was Steven, and they were together for ten months. Back then, Dan was still giving fiction-writing a shot, believing that his poetry and short stories were really his ticket into the big, bad world of publishing. Dan used to write sometimes about the hue of Steven’s eyes - like the light gray filtering in through the blinds during dusk, he wrote once - and his crooked teeth. What a crock of bullshit.

“Was it happy?” Phil asks. He props his chin on his bent knee.

“Depends what you mean by that. I _was_ happy to be with him, at some point, but he wasn’t with me. We parted ways - shit happens,” Dan shrugs.

Phil asks, “And since then? Any other notable mentions?”

“I just - relationships are not for me, Phil. It’s hard and scary, investing yourself in someone who’d more than likely be ambivalent in return. That’s how all my relationships have turned out.” Dan’s getting a bit upset now, but if Phil knew the full extent of his shambolic dating history, he would sympathise too.

“That shouldn’t stop you from putting yourself out there. That shouldn’t stop you from loving intensely, or getting attached.”

“Then you don’t know how hard it is when people walk away,” Dan muses, tapping an irregular rhythm on his knee. “I was dumped by someone I loved, and another person I loved died because of me, all in the span of a year. It’s easier to not love sometimes.”

Phil looks like he’s about to argue - and honestly _what does he know_. Dan says, “You haven’t had any meaningful relationships in the past few years either, so save the preachy bullshit, alright.” It comes out more scathing than anything else.

Phil’s face screws up in either anger or embarrassment. Dan really hadn’t wanted to invoke either of those, but it seems his lack of a filter did him in anyway. “I didn’t - wait -” Dan panics, when Phil gets up so quickly his knees crack. 

“I know _exactly_ what you meant,” he says, voice breaking. “Out of everyone I didn’t think _you’d_ judge me for it, you know. For being celibate, choosing this life. It’s not something I’m ashamed about either - so whatever you intended by that, it’s not going to - it doesn’t - sting.”

Good to know they’re both liars when it comes to things like this. Dan says, desperate to mollify, “I know. I know - low blow, Phil. M’sorry.” Dan puts his head in his hands and tries to even his breathing. He usually likes to be controversial, to be different, sometimes, but not to the extent of ever being confrontational. “It’s different for me, alright. My past can’t undo itself, nor can I ignore it entirely. It’s something that I live with everyday, and goddamn is it painful as fuck.”

Phil sighs. “I’m sorry, too. My default is treating every person like they’ve come in for a confession, and wanting to absolve them of their guilt and relieve some of the sadness. Mostly it feels like being optimistic is the _only_ thing I can do right.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, though he’s the polar opposite. Hoping for things to get better has never worked for him - he prefers to brace himself for the worse, when it inevitably comes. “Unless you can pray away my depression, I don’t think there’s much you can do. Nothing much I can do either.”

“I hate when people say that. That they can’t be helped. It only spurs me on more,” Phil replies. He shakes his head as if to get rid of the thought. “Actually - what I meant to ask earlier was: were you happy or content?”

“In my bitter, fucked-me-up-irrevocably, last notable relationship?” Phil nods. Dan adds, confused, “Wait, don’t ‘happy’ and ‘content’ mean the same?”

“They’re a bit different to me. Being content is a routine, like you could play your favourite song over and over again, and be content with it. You could eat Shreddies every morning and be perfectly ok. But - being happy, that’s like, having your first bite. Listening to the song the first time. It’s novel in the same way that it feels different each time. It’s like discovering new ways to be in love every day; each time feeling like you’ve found a new favourite thing.”

“Wow. Is that fanfiction or what?”

Phil laughs. “Maybe I’m just a romantic,” Phil says wistfully. 

“I think maybe you just like pointing out the obvious,” Dan remarks. “That I wasn’t happy, and content is the better word for it.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel any worse. Just trying to offer some perspective. My last relationship wasn’t happy either. I was coasting through, thinking I was in love but really, I just liked the idea of being in a relationship. Being the person that someone else wanted, lusted for, and thought about. Being the first pick.”

Margaret comes home then, swinging the door open wildly and lamenting, “My dear! Those people at the supermarket are getting more ghastly by the day!”

They share a small grin and both make their way to her, offloading some of the bags hung over her arms. Her staff come running over like there’s a fire, offering to take off her coat, put her Hermes bag elsewhere, and to safely deposit her hat by the door. Dan thinks about being waited on like that, how stifling it must be sometimes. But he wouldn’t ever offer pity to someone who has had the privileges most go without.

“Mags,” Phil says, gesturing to Dan, “this is my friend.”

“Oh hello, dear! Phil mentioned a friend was coming over - elusive as the type may be,” she says, giving Phil an amused look. “Good to see you anyway. Pretty thing you are.” She presses down on Dan’s dimple. 

She reminds Dan a lot of his Nan. The way she glides around the house like even _it_ respects her. She also mixes honey into her tea, which is strange and brilliant all at once. “So what have you boys been up to?”

Phil glances at him again, a weighty look. 

“Nothing much,” he replies succinctly after a bit of silence. “What about you? Anything new with the Real Housewives of Kensington?”

And so it goes. 

+

“I’m sorry again. About earlier,” Phil says, walking Dan out and waiting with him for his Uber to arrive. 

(Dinner was, in short, pretty lovely. It’s apparent to anyone in the vicinity that Phil and Mags have a special friendship, verging on mother-and-son dynamics. She cares for him, takes care of him, comes to his Sunday sermons at the church if only to drive him home after. She’s so, so warm, and kind, emanating the maternal instinct Dan doesn’t usually get from his own Mum. After the movie, in which she pretty much makes them fast forward through the _rather homoerotic fight scenes,_ she even sends Dan off with a kiss on the cheek and a tin of biscuits - not one snide comment accompanying them.)

“It’s ok, Phil. I just don’t do well with people... psychoanalysing me. Especially when I have no clue what’s going on up there,” Dan taps his temples, “half the time.”

“I just want to get to know you better,” Phil says earnestly, and really, Dan hates that. He hates the way Phil cares, and Phil loves, and how he’ll never deserve that. 

“Likewise. And I usually hate being vulnerable but,” Dan pauses for a bit, “not with you, I think.” They lock eyes, and Phil’s cheeks redden. Dan chalks it down to it being too cold outside, being almost midnight already, but when Phil bundles him into a hug, he blushes, too. 

Phil hugs like how Dan’d imagine him to. Two hands wrapped around Dan’s lower back, face smushed into Dan’s shoulder (given the fact that he’s _clearly_ about two inches shorter; a point of contention between them) and when Phil pulls away, his lips drag across Dan’s neck. 

“What was that for?” Dan asks, fairly pointlessly. 

“A friendship hug I give everyone I know,” Phil says, and Dan imperceptibly clenches his teeth at the way ‘friend’ rolls so easily off Phil’s tongue. “Also. Pretty sure priestly hugs are a _mandate_. By the Vatican or summat.”

“Oh ok,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “I’d better double-check the Bible you gave me to confirm.”

“You do that,” Phil says with a smile. “Y’know. My parents are coming up to London next week. Would you wanna meet them or something -” Phil asks, then hastily adds, “since I’ve already met yours. And like, it wouldn’t be weird? They’re very nice, and very embarrassing, but mostly nice.”

“Wow, I’ve never heard you talk that fast,” Dan laughs. “And yeah, it would be nice to see what a functional family looks like.”

Phil lets out an audible sigh of relief. Dan jokes, “And after meeting the family, the next step is marriage? Babies?”

“You wish. The only plus side if we ever got married, and had kids with your last name - I’d name my child Wolf. Like Wolf Howell,” Phil says, laughing increasingly loudly as Dan winces. “Awooo.”

“That’s direct disincentive right there,” Dan says, pulling a face. “When we get married and our kid takes your last name, I bet you’d name them Sylvester because you’re a bitch like that. And would want to subject our poor child to a life of infamy.”

Phil laughs but it tapers off quickly. “Wait. You said, uh - _when_ we get married? I didn’t hear that wrong?”

 _Fuck._ Dan pauses, heart racing. “Well uh. I mean. No, _if_ we get married, of course. Not that we’d ever consider that - or like. Not that we’d ever do that, I mean.” 

Phil grimaces. “Yeah. We - I can’t.” Phil seems to take a deep breath then. “Anyway, Sunday next week, yeah? Meeting them for brunch after Sunday mass, then I’m bringing them around town. My brother and Corn might be with them, too.”

“So it’s the whole family then? It’d be awkward, wouldn’t it - for some gangly rando to tag along?” Dan asks, trepidation in his tone. 

It’s not that he isn’t good with families - he remembers being a hoot around his friend’s parents (mostly because he wanted to stay over the night and needed to prove himself as an Honorable Friend) and usually he’s relatively good with talking when it comes down to it. It’s just - these are _Phil’s_ parents. Who he’s assuming are as imploring as Phil is, as kind and gentle. He’s going to get attached, and he can’t.

“Well, I’ve told my mum about you, and she’s been asking to meet you,” Phil says shyly - and _oh,_ that’s what this is about. 

“What lies have you been telling her, huh,” Dan says, scrambling to get out of it. They’re wading through murky waters here, and the only thing Dan can see at the edge of the pond is this: that Phil’s celibate and nothing can happen. Phil’s only attachment is to God, even if Dan’s is to him.

“That you’re a good friend,” there seems to be a barely imperceptible emphasis on the word, “and that you’ve made living in London a lot more bearable. You know that.”

“I’m just. I’m not sure, Phil. You know I have anxiety about things like this,” Dan says, though it’s clearly a shitty excuse at best. Dan had no qualms about meeting Mags, someone important in Phil’s life, just now. Why would this be any different?

“You met Mags - it’ll be no different,” Phil implores, seemingly having read his mind. 

A car approaches the front of the house. The taxi driver rolls down the window to beckon Dan over, but mostly it’s to gawk at the mansion in front of him. 

While Dan’s a bit distracted, Phil leans closer to him, mumbles in his ear, “I want you there. Isn’t that enough?”

Dan’s throat goes dry and his heart stutters. He hates the way his body reacts (or wants to react) to being this close to Phil - wanting to press soft kisses into the side of his face, and to fist his shirt and bring him closer. 

He’s distracted, entirely so, and just says, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” in response to Phil. No thoughts, head empty. 

“Great!” Phil says, pulling back and grinning with the hint of tongue poking out of his mouth. Dan wants to suck on it, wants to get on his knees and worship the crown of his cock. And other fantasies Dan’s not willing to entertain further, especially now with the taxi driver calling out to him more insistently. 

“‘M so sorry,” Dan says, and he’s apologising for so many things here. “Got to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” Phil replies. “I’ll text you.”

Dan backs into the car and the driver asks where he’s heading. His head swims with thoughts of Phil, and of guilt and embarrassment at how he’s subconsciously treating his friend. Whose life centres around virtues like chastity. And non-objectification goes both ways. Dan takes a few deep breaths, pressing a palm to his insistent bulge to quell his arousal. As always, it doesn’t work.

Well, he resolves, if he can’t get Phil out of his head, he’s got to get someone else into it. Or onto him, preferably. 

“Can you drop me off somewhere else instead - BEAT London? The club, I mean,” he tells the driver, who grumbles at that but nods, and Dan lets the weight of the night lift off his shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

PJ calls him on a Tuesday, out of the blue. 

“What’s this about your mum getting married? When was she _not_ married?” PJ asks immediately when Dan picks up the phone.

“Hello to you, too,” Dan replies blearily, rubbing his eyes. He’s been staring at his computer screen for far too long now, and it’s nearing dinnertime already. The office has pretty much emptied out, save for Tia in the office diagonal to him, who he’s pretty sure doesn’t go home most days. “Also. Where did you hear that?” 

“Who else? - Hanna, of course,” PJ says, scoffing. Hanna was PJ’s friend from university, who introduced Dan to him when he was broke and living alone in London for the first time. They still keep in touch sometimes, Hanna and PJ, despite the fact that Hanna and Adrian usually think they’re on a different plane of #relationshipgoals unattainable to most. This mostly means: attractive, rich and popular. Bourgeois scum, Dan used to joke - Hanna didn’t take to him much after that.

“Ah, yes, the wicked witch of West London,” Dan snorts. “Anyway, you might’ve missed perhaps the most important part of the news, which is that it’s a _vow renewal_ , turd.”

“Get new insults, boomer,” PJ replies. “Also - this is actually worse news. Would’ve thought it’d be a divorce by now.”

“Me and you both,” Dan sighs. “I’m convinced it’s a mid-life crisis thing and not really a marriage-affirming thing.”

“Most couples break up during a midlife crisis, but hey, to each their own,” PJ remarks. Dan can hear a bit of The Office in the background, and feels a sudden pang of nostalgia at how easy it was to live with PJ. Even if all he did was leave his paint brushes strewn across the dining table and film his YouTube videos at the crack of dawn.

The call drops and then Dan’s phone vibrates. He sees PJ requesting a video call. Dan quickly fiddles with his curls and answers the call with a bright smile. “There you are in the virtual flesh, you bugger,” PJ greets.

“Hello again,” Dan says. “Wow, your hair tripled in volume, how did that happen?”

“Quarter-life crisis, mate. Hits all of us,” PJ pouts. “You, on the other hand, look like _shite._ Have you been sleeping?” he asks, with a concerned tone.

“Yes, Dad,” Dan says. “It’s just been a long few weeks is all.” 

(Between meeting Phil, hanging out with Phil, texting Phil and laughing with Phil, he’s not had much time to himself. Added on to the fact that he might be _falling_ for Phil, too, which is another existential crisis he’s decided to put off indefinitely.)

“Well, I don’t like that.” PJ pauses, and narrows his eyes, “Now what’s the deal with this wedding?”

“What do you mean?” Dan asks, the picture of nonchalance. “Everything is going fine.”

“Well, for starters, you haven’t called me to whine or complain yet - which, in the time I’ve known you, is a first. What gives?”

“I’m not _happy_ about the re-wedding,” PJ scoffs at the term, “but I’m dealing with it because of Nan - don’t ask - and the fact that my mum is excited about the whole thing. Messy family dynamics or not, I wouldn’t risk that.”

“There’s something else,” PJ says pointedly, sticking his nose up at the camera. He gives a very Dumbledore-esque disproving look, which is something he’s perfected over the years of living with Dan. “ _Someone_ else, perhaps?”

“What - how - who told you?” Dan asks, befuddled. Hanna hasn’t been around nearly enough recently to notice how close he’s gotten to Phil, and he highly doubts Adrian’s the gossiping type about sordid (non) love affairs - though he’s a whore for rumours of potential mergers and acquisitions - so, he doubts it’d come from him either.

“Aha!” PJ says, entirely too pleased with himself. “Called it. That, my dear, was the age-old trick of misleading the opponent.”

 _Fuck_. “Yes, sensei, you got me,” Dan replies. His game must be slipping if he let PJ corner him like that. “I also will uphold my right to the freedom of expression - and, in this case, tell you to mind the fuck out of my business.”

“Flatmates don’t keep secrets from each other. That’s Rule 12 of the Handbook, pages 14-15.”

“However accurate your mystical handbook might be, you revoked that privilege when you moved to a different _city_ with your _maiden in-waiting_ ,” Dan says, ignoring PJ’s scoff, “and, henceforth, I don’t really have to tell you anything.”

“The modern term is _fiance,_ I think?” PJ quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “Anyway, don’t distract me. Tell me pleaaaaaseee,” he pleads, putting his phone down on the table in front of him, and clasping his palms together in a prayer pose. Actually kind of fitting given what Dan’s hiding from him, he thinks. 

“Nope,” Dan says, popping his lips.

“Well,” PJ relents, “I hope, whoever it is, is making you happy. You deserve to be happy - you haven’t been since before Bryony passed and Wirrow moved away.”

At the names of both, Dan flinches. “Wirrow never made me happy. He was a _mistake_. A bloody big mistake, a stupid mistake, a fucking -”

“What did I say about self-loathing?” PJ interrupts. Dan quiets, puts his heads in his hands to silence his whirring thoughts. 

“You can’t keep holding this guilt in forever, babe. I’ve seen what it can do to you, and -” PJ’s voice breaks a bit, “look, don’t deprive yourself of good things because you’ve made some mistakes. Life is forgiving - Bryony wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this either.”

(Thing is, Dan knows Bryony wouldn’t have. She was kind, had a smile that lit up like a beacon, and always was more generous to Dan than anyone else had been. He remembers once, a Saturday at a cat cafe, and she declared Dan to be her soulmate. _Platonic, of course, because you’re basically gay._ To which, Dan protested, _I am gay! You’ve walked in on me sucking Cute Pub Guy off._ The platonic soulmates thing stuck after that, and it was hard for Dan to make plans without factoring Bry in mind - spending days on end discussing sexuality and race and the portrayal of Robert Pattinson in mass media. He loved her.)

“You wouldn’t know what Bryony wants,” Dan snaps. “Because she’s _dead._ Gone to the world, hit by a bus, et al. And most of the time, I don’t know what to do with myself - with the weight of the love I have for her.” 

Dan’s well aware he’s raising his voice in the middle of his office, but it’s not like Tia would care. “So, you, and _anyone else_ wanting to dispense this self-care bullshit, need to fuck off, ok?” 

PJ sighs heavily, clearly distressed at the way Dan’s riled up now. “I’m aware that you’re angry and more stressed out than usual, but here me out: I’m _never_ going to fuck off, ok? The sooner you get that into your dense head, the sooner we can go back to chatting about how I’m going to come down for your parents’ wedding and we’re going to dance to Abba.”

Dan laughs softly, letting the argument dissolve. “The last time we danced, you fell and almost broke a hip.”

“Well, I’d do it again to see you smile, alright? Well worth it,” PJ replies, utter warmth in his tone. 

Dan doesn’t know, with all the shitty things he’s done, how he’s managed to keep PJ in his life. He’s too good. “Fuck, fuck. I’m so sorry I got mad, Peej. Sometimes, I just don’t know how to _deal_ with...everything. The good and the bad. It’s so, so hard,” Dan confesses. 

“Well, Hanna told me that she and Adrian got you complementary therapy sessions? That might be a start?” PJ asks after a bit of silence, clearly a bit wary of how Dan will react. Dan, though, is tired. He’s tired of feeling this way: guilt wrapped around every breathing cell, sadness pressing down against his oesophagus. Bryony’s not here anymore, he repeats to himself. And even if he can’t change that, there may be other things that he can.

“Yeah, I’ll see,” Dan says. It’s all he’s willing to admit. He wipes away the residual angry tears on his cheeks. There’s that Breakdown of The Week sorted. “By the way, do you fancy coming down to London a bit quicker? Say, a day earlier?”

“Yes. Wait, why? What’s up?” PJ asks. 

“M’dad’s stag night. We need to have it the Friday before the wedding, and now, me and Adrian are in-charge.” Dan mimics the face PJ makes. “Absolutely not ideal, yes. But we also decided on some expensive bar in West London - somewhere near Hammersmith - because we have no creativity. Adrian suggested some typical lads night out, but I refused to succumb to laddy culture.”

“Yes to subverting tropes,” PJ agrees.

“So we just decided with some drinks, maybe some karaoke. Just a chill night.” Dan wants to shudder at the mention of karaoke - Britney is his one and only go-to, and even then, he has to be roped into it by someone hard to ignore - but Adrian likes it a lot, he even sounds good and who the fuck sounds good at karaoke, really?

“Who’s coming with?” 

“Uhm. You, me, Adrian. Dad, of course. A few of Dad’s colleagues - all of whom want free drinks, those cheap bitches - uh. Phil. Adrian, too, did I mention? Yeah, so, all like -”

“Wait, wait, nice try. Who’s Phil?” PJ interjects, too observant for Dan’s liking. 

“A friend,” Dan rebuffs. “Stop giving me that face. A friend. Without benefits.” He hates that he has to clarify but, like Bryony, PJ has had to witness too many incidences of Dan sucking cock by the sofa. Good times.

“Okay,” PJ says, slowly as if trying to comprehend. “Where did you meet this Phil? Sounds like an old-person name, to be honest.”

Dan tamps down on the anger he feels on Phil’s behalf. “It’s not - he’s barely a couple of years older than us. My parents introduced us. He works...in the holy business. And he’s allergic to cats. Satisfied?”

“Hoo boy,” PJ giggles, fanning himself, “saucy stuff. Also when you mean holy business…”

Dan shrugs. “He’s God himself, of course.”

“Wow, you're really shaking the table here. Going on a rant about always feeling guilty while making deals with the entity who could potentially absolve all your sins. Always knew you were a masochist.”

Dan sighs. “Peej. He’s a priest, obviously.” He rolls his eyes for added effect.

“I knew that,” he says defensively. “What are you doing mucking about with a priest anyway? Does he know you’re an _infidel_?” PJ gasps.

“No, he-” Dan’s stomach growls at that moment, and he realises he’s not eaten since breakfast. “I’m going to have to go eat soon. Sorry to cut the banter short.”

PJ frowns, and as much as Dan says he’s immune to it, he softens. “He’s the priest at my parents’ re-wedding. Yes, I will keep using that word even if you hate it.”

“And…?” 

“And what? I spend all my time with him and think about him a lot? Yes, probably. Also, won’t matter because, one, as you mentioned, I’m an infidel. Two, I’m gay - which would add to my atheism, if nothing else. And three, he’s not interested. Now, can I get back to leaving the office and getting some tandoori from that place across the road?”

As always, his protestations are ignored. “Quite frankly, I’ve seen you turn straight men gay. What’s one priest?” PJ counters.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Dan scoffs. “I’m already on God’s bad side, and now you want me to compromise one of his servants or whatever?”

“I _really_ don’t think that’s how it works,” PJ presses, despite Dan’s grumbling otherwise. “And what I mean is: if this is the guy that’s making you happy, I think you should pursue it. I won’t mention why because we’ll be back in that argument just now - but yeah. Don’t cross things off just yet, and see where it goes.”

“Whatever,” Dan says, knowing it’s an argument that could potentially go on for the rest of the night. “At least now I can be the one to say “I told you so” when my heart gets beaten into a pulp as a result of pursuing Mr. Hot Priest.”

“You’ve always been so cynical,” PJ sighs. 

“But that’s my brand,” Dan says. “Anyway. Got to go eat.”

“Be safe. I’ll see you Friday for the stag do - clearly the idea of celebrating your dad’s theoretical last night of promiscuity is _riveting_.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dan says, in mock-defense. “And don’t you forget it. Ciao.”

+

“Strippers or no strippers? For the party?” Dan asks jokingly, when he’s walking with Phil to meet his parents. Dan’s a bit shaky from the anxiety and he’s trying to compensate for it by being louder, clingier than usual. He’s got a hand around Phil’s shoulders and is talking animatedly as if to an audience. A natural performer he is.

Phil gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m going to wager a no to that. I’m also not sure why you’re asking me. I’m still a priest, technically, even when I’m out of the cassock.” 

Dan wants to say, _you look good either way_ , but decides against it for obvious reasons. Phil’s in a loose white t-shirt, something about Naruto on the front, and tight skinny jeans. His hair is coiffed into a pretty spectacular quiff as well, with bits of his red roots peeking through. Dan’s half aware that he’s ogling a bit but Phil doesn’t seem to notice, instead, is folding the sleeves of his t-shirt up to show off more pale skin.

“Is this fashionable?” Phil asks, stopping midway on the pavement, and flexing his biceps in (what might be) a model pose. 

“I would say you look constipated, but hey, what do I know?” Dan says, reaching over to fix a droopy fold on Phil’s left sleeve. “There, done. The shot of potassium to your swollen intestines.”

“God, why am I friends with you?” Phil says, shaking his head while clearly stifling a laugh. They approach the front of the restaurant and Phil pulls him aside abruptly. “Um. Wait. My parents are...a bit much. Just zone them out when you need to.”

Dan nods, perplexed. “Ok? You’ve met mine right? I actually haven’t listened to a word they’ve said since the 90s.”

Phil laughs, apparently steeling himself up for something. Dan’s anxiety goes into overdrive. “Ok, ok, let’s go in.”

“Child!” Phil’s mum - Kathryn, Phil supplied earlier when Dan quizzed him on every family member he’s about to meet - says jovially. She’s wearing a sweater with the map of the underground on in, and a bright red hat with googly eyes. “And Child’s Pretty Friend! How are you both?”

“ _Mum_ ,” Phil says, embarrassed, “how was the trip?” They take their seats - Dan next to Phil, Phil’s mum and dad opposite, and two unoccupied seats at the end of the table. It’s a pretty cramped space and, as a result, Dan’s sitting intimidatingly close to Phil’s dad, Nigel. 

Phil’s mum launches into a tangent about the trains, and how late they’ve been, and how the Isle of Man has been flooded recently and their neighbour, Helen, lost two chickens. Nigel nods, and chimes in where he’s needed, and Dan likes the way they complement each other. Like two halves of a whole. 

“So, what do you do?”

It takes a while for Dan to realise they’re addressing him. “Oh! I’m a writer,” Dan blushes.

“Fascinating! I love writers - we have a friend down in Wales who writes for a cooking magazine. Mostly rubbish recipes but we have a subscription anyway,” Kath replies, delighted.

“Ah -” Dan says, scratching his neck. “I write more...political things. But I’d like to branch out more in the future, for sure.” Dan doesn’t add that he’s failed at other things, so, here he is. “I’ve just started the job actually, and ‘s not too bad.”

“That’s good!” Kath exclaims. She’s definitely one of those ‘silver lining’ mums, Dan can already tell. “Phil’s just started at the church, too. So nice of you boys to find each other.” Nigel nods along.

Phil flushes before saying, “That’s because _lonely sods_ of a feather flock together, Mum. But I’m actually officiating the wedding between his parents, ‘s how we met.”

“Oh,” Kath says, confused. “Your parents waited so long to get married, dear? Kind of admirable really - I’ve had to put up with this one,” she gestures to the man next to her, “legally for the last thirty years or so. Could’ve done without, to be honest.” 

They all laugh, Phil’s dad most of all. “Well I couldn’t have lived without you, my love.”

“See, marriage does that to a person!” Kath laughs, taking a bite of her croissant. 

“My parents are renewing their vows, actually,” Dan explains. “And wanted Phil here to tell them they’re married...again. And to force the rest of us to congratulate them on their marriage...again.”

“Well,” Nigel says suddenly, like a jumpscare, “kudos to them. Life’s too short to be embarrassed that you’re in love.”

Given the way he’s fought for his health in the past, it makes sense to Dan that he feels that way. It must be a privilege, Dan thinks, to have the perspective to look at life that way. To have known yourself when you had so little life left - and now, when you’re brimming with it, understanding how fleeting it is at all. 

They move topics after that, to Phil’s latest sloth video obsession and the time Nigel bought Phil a cordless drill for his birthday. 

“I was so tempted to say the “how many gays do you need to fix a lightbulb” joke but I wasn’t out yet,” Phil confesses, much to the table’s amusement. “If anything, the drill reaffirmed to me that I could never pass off as straight,” Phil shudders at the thought.

“I remember when I was six, my Granddad bought me a shirt that said, ‘Girlies watch out.’ I’m still traumatised,” Dan replies. He still has it actually, stored somewhere in his parents’ attic for the shits and giggles. 

“Oh,” Kath hums, “you’re gay, too?”

Dan’s heart stutters. He’s not sure how to go about this really - he knows Phil’s parents took it well enough that he’s gay, but Dan doesn’t usually make it a point to come out willy nilly. Especially to people with no willies that Dan would like to have fun with, at least.

“I’m uh -” Dan looks to Phil for encouragement. Phil looks as flustered as he is, which is of no help at all, thanks Phil. “Yeah. I guess? I’m gay?”

“You’re asking?” Nigel jokes, ripping off a piece of his breadstick. 

“No, yeah. I’m gay. ‘ve been all my life.” 

“Interesting,” Kath says, and nothing else. Though, she does give Phil a _look_ that’s hard to decipher. A look that’s somewhere between ‘are you sure about this’ and ‘think carefully’ that Dan doesn’t really want to intercept. From the edge of his vision, Dan can see Phil nod infinitesimally, and Kathryn relaxes into her seat. 

Martyn and Cornelia arrive then, and Dan’s launched into more introductions, questions about his job and his life and the concept of re-weddings - what are those about? Cornelia asks, her red curls falling into her eyes - and what to perform at them. It’s mostly a Dan show from then on, with people asking him questions left, right and centre, and suddenly, Dan gets what Phil meant by “too much.” Eager and earnest and warm - nothing that Dan’s used to with his family.

“Phil always talks about you!” Cornelia gushes when Dan insists that he’s nothing special - that his life has thus far been an amalgamation of awkward moments, sad moments, and video games. “Always goes _Dan loves this_ or _Dan used to like that but now doesn’t,_ and suddenly, ten minutes later, I realise I know everything from your favourite cereal to Bon Iver song.”

Dan takes a peek at Phil, who’s all red. He decides to let Phil off the hook, though his heart is racing. Like a schoolboy with a crush. “Well, it _is_ imperative that you know of Shreddies’ superiority in the cereal market. Plus, who doesn’t love Bon Iver? The true sinners of society.”

Phil rolls his eyes because he’s heard this all before. “Yeah. And Dan’s a new friend - why wouldn’t I talk about him?” Phil asks. 

_Friend_. Dan needs to remember that more often. “I’m pretty cool, too. So, I don’t blame him.” The table erupts with laughter, and Phil nudges Dan with his knee underneath the table, and it’s all Dan remembers of the rest of brunch.

+

The day is planned like this: visiting museums across London - apparently there are 276 in total, which Dan suspects is just enough space to house all the stolen artefacts from the old colonies - then dinner in Soho. 

“What’s that?” Phil asks when they approach a row of sickles in a glass cabinet. The question is made rather redundant by the fact that there’s an information slide on the front, but Dan humors the question nonetheless. “Dunno - but they look _sick_ , don’t they?” Phil’s lets out a small giggle. 

“Oh hey,” Martyn says from across them, “these are some of Liz’s tiaras. Damn.”

“I’m more concerned by the fact that you think you’re on a first-name basis with the Queen than the fact that you’re actually impressed by the excessive wealth of your monarchy,” Cornelia says sagely, ruffling Martyn’s (sparse) hair. 

Phil’s mum hurries them along because apparently there’s a two pm guide around the pre-historic exhibit that they absolutely _cannot_ miss. Phil’s definitely her son by the way he vibrates with excitement throughout the hour-long guided tour, nudging Dan at different points to laugh at some dinosaur limb. 

“Yikes,” Dan exclaims when Phil points out one. “Please tell me that’s a protruding pelvis and nothing else.” And similar stupid comments thereafter. It’s worth it for the way Phil has to stifle giggles into his palm, dodging his mum’s swats to the shoulder. Phil’s too cute, Dan thinks, and it’s entirely possible he might be in too deep.

“I’m going to head back,” Dan says after the museum trip ends. The Lesters are headed to dinner and Dan feels increasingly like he’s being sucked into a family he will never be a part of. Not in the way he wants to be. So, it’s easier to walk away now - the motto of Dan’s life, really - before everyone gets hurt. 

The Lesters, however, are as overbearing as Phil forewarned. They refuse to let him leave - if only because London at night is very dangerous, according to Kathryn, and it would be unwise that he walk back alone - and before long, Dan finds himself trotting behind the family as they scour Soho for a reasonably-priced restaurant. Of course, those come few and far between.

“Y’alright?” Phil asks tentatively as they trail behind the group. “You wanted to leave earlier…?” 

Dan sighs. He doesn’t quite know how to phrase his insecurities and anxiety into a sentence palatable to a priest. A priest with a saviour complex, no less. “I feel like - this is your _family_ , Phil. I’ve intruded enough, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think so. My parents do like you, and my brother and Cornelia, too. Dinner honestly won’t hurt, right?”

Dan shrugs, still skeptical. Not that he can do much about it now, as Nigel opens the door to an Korean-Mexican fusion restaurant. One of those hipster places with the dangly neon lights and potted plants everywhere. An old Selena song is playing when they enter, and he swears he sees Cornelia’s eyes tear up. 

At the table, Dan notices they’re all paired up: Nigel and Kath, Martyn and Corn, him and Phil, in the booth. It makes his heart ache, and he scoots a bit further from Phil to disrupt the fantasy a bit. It doesn’t work when Phil gives him an odd look, and moves closer to him. 

“What’re you thinking of getting?” Phil asks into his ear. “Can we split some fajitas?”

As Dan’s about to whisper back about getting some kimchi empanadas instead, a burly waiter comes by. The people around the table voice their orders before it’s Dan’s turn and the man says, “What about you, darling?”

See, Dan generally knows when he’s being chatted up versus merely complimented. Usually, it’s in the way people look - either hopelessly optimistic about their chances or their roaming eyes shamelessly ogling. This man is definitely the latter, which makes Dan very uncomfortable. Considering the fact that he’s around mostly strangers and Phil. 

“Uh,” Dan says, flustered. Phil interjects, taking over the conversation. “We’ll be having the fajitas, please.” His tone is authoritative, as if staking claim. Dan actively has to stop himself from swooning. 

“Okay…” the waiter trails off, blissfully oblivious. “Well, any drinks then? Might be able to get them on the house,” he prods smugly, looking at Dan directly. 

“I’ll have the orange juice, and he’ll have the strawberry vodka mix,” Phil replies swiftly, passing him back the menus. “Thank you.” Phil’s face continues looking smug as the waiter walks away with his tail between his legs, it seems like. 

“Down, boy,” Cornelia says to Phil, laughing openly.

Phil looks guilty, at least, for having hijacked the conversation. “Sorry,” he nudges Dan with his shoulder, “it honestly seemed like he was making you uncomfortable.”

Phil’s parents have gone back to conversation while Martyn and Cornelia have started arguing about the new song playing overhead. 

Dan murmurs, “Pity he did. Could’ve ended up in bed with him if he was a tad nicer chatting me up.”

Dan watches the way Phil visibly gulps, ears tinting pink. He’s also vaguely aware he’s riling Phil up - more of a risk than anything else. “And do you get...chatted up frequently?” Phil’s voice is even softer now.

“Sometimes. Usually in clubs…” Dan says, recounting the first time they met. “Most of them are right dicks too, but I like being bossed around, so there’s that.”

Phil looks at him suddenly, eyes widening. Dan realises he must’ve revealed far too much, far too much to a _priest_ , who for all accounts and purposes does not need to know any of his kinks. Phil or not, Dan’s mortified and his cheeks burn. “Fuck. Wait. That’s -”

“Good to know,” Phil whispers in response, letting out a disbelieving laugh, and shakes his head. He seems to glance down at his lap before looking back up reprovingly. The waiter comes back, looking far more despondent now as he’s passing the drinks around the table.

“Thank you for your service,” Phil says the loudest. Everyone else snorts into their palm.

A power move, Dan thinks. And he takes a massive gulp of his drink after that.

+

Dinner goes swimmingly. Dan didn’t particularly think it’d go otherwise, considering how easily he fit in with the group - his sarcasm matching Cornelia’s, his love for literature matching Nigel’s, irritating Phil with Martyn and Kath. At one point, Dan managed to get the whole of Phil’s family wheezing with laughter, recounting an experience he had about being deported to the Bahamas for a bit. 

This is part of the reason he wanted to leave before dinner, knowing he was on the precipice of loving this family (potentially more than his own) and feeling the urgent need to whisper harshly to Phil, “Do you see this? Do you see how happy they make me?” As if begging for Phil to reciprocate his feelings would do him any good.

“It was nice to meet you,” Dan repeats as genuinely as he can to each family member of Phil’s. Even if he never met Phil or his family again, he’d be content in this day being their last together, content and cozy like families should be. “Have a safe trip back.”

“Thank you,” Kath says, catching him into another hug. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Things will work out,” she whispers into his ear.

Dan looks at her, confused. Dan worries about most things under the Sun, so he doesn’t know exactly what she means, or which things will work out. Rather optimistically, though, he believes her. He’s a lot stronger than he was a year ago, heck than he’s ever been. “Thank you, I’ll take care of Phil,” Dan says sincerely.

Kath responds with eyes glimmering with unshed tears, and Dan understands how scared she must’ve been when her husband was ill, when Phil changed jobs and moved to London on a whim. Dan watches as she dries her eyes hurriedly, and takes Nigel by the arm. They rush off in a flurry because none of them noticed that it’s barely ten minutes until their train back to Heysham.

Cornelia taps on his shoulder. Dan turns around and is amused to see her on her tippy toes. “Yes, ma’am?”

“About your parents’ wedding - we need to discuss the setlist.” She looks serious, like a music mogul in action. Martyn takes a look around them, at the bustling street they’ve found themselves on in Soho. “I’m sure we can find a pub nearby. Care for some drinks, lads?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Cornelia sniffs, “‘m a lady.”

“And a gorgeous one at that,” Martyn replies, holding her palm and walking towards the nearest pub in sight. 

To be honest, Dan’s a bit knackered. He’s just spent a whole day actively trying not to swear, and also not melt into a puddle at how well Phil and his family get along, and now, he’s being dragged with said family to a pub where he’s bound to get tipsy and blurt out his love for every single one of them in turn.

Yet, before he can say anything, Phil’s dragging him by the arm into a seedy-looking pub slash club place where they’re all greeted with five men gyrating on the bartop. “Is this a _gay_ club?” Phil gasps. Dan’s jaw drops as well. 

“Seems like it!” Martyn replies, looking far too happy. Cornelia hangs off his arm, already spotting an empty booth nearby and ushers Dan and Phil over to their seats. “You can watch us drink, Phil. Enjoy this night of sin,” she says teasingly.

Dan must look confused then because Cornelia clarifies, “The last time we were at a club together, Phil tried to help every drunk person. Literally hauled one of the guys off into a taxi and called him the next day to make sure he was safe. Our little drunk police,” she coos, pinching Phil’s cheek. 

“You don’t drink much?” Dan asks Phil as they settle into their seats. He’s only really seen Phil drink water or juice. Not even wine - and that was prescribed by Jesus right? Dan’s very limited knowledge seems to affirm this. 

“I don’t drink much, though I know priests who do. I tend to stick to sweet drinks if anything, always love me some margarita or raspberry cosmo.”

“How very Gossip Girl of you, Phil,” Dan snorts, “I’ll go order you one anyway. You deserve to let loose,” Dan says, and Phil’s eyes flash, “and let go.”

Phil lets out a strained smile. “Can’t say no to you now, can I?” 

Cornelia clears their throats then. “Sorry to interrupt this riveting conversation, but let’s get some shots, shall we?” She smacks her lips and quite literally shoos Dan away to the bar. When Dan looks back at the group, he can see her whispering to Phil quite seriously. As if giving him a pep talk. Dan can imagine that really - Cornelia having to psych Phil up for his first taste of alcohol in months, maybe years. Dan doesn’t think he’d be able to go without alcohol (or sex, for that matter) for too long - he’s far too depressed for that.

“Mate,” Dan says, flagging the bartender through the legs of one of the men on the bar. “A coupla’ shots for my pals,” he points to the table, “and a raspberry cosmo, please.” 

“Hey, cutie,” one of the dancers with a mostly see-through thong calls out to him, “want something sweeter for your taste?”

Dan wants to laugh at the cheesiness of it. “Not particularly. Thank you, though. I like your- “ he points at the man’s pecs and a very intimidating eight pack. Dan leans back against the bar, barely avoiding the moving limbs behind him, and closes his eyes for a bit. The blaring music and the flashing lights are a bit too much.

“Y’ok?” Phil asks, appearing beside him. “s a bit much in here.” 

“An understatement,” Dan says in the quiet of a beat that’s just dropped. “Just a bit tired. Your family is a riot.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” Phil asks, eyebrows furrowed like he’s worried Dan had a bad time. 

“The best way, Phil,” Dan replies. “They’re like the family I always wished I had.” In many ways they are: Phil’s relationship with his parents, his relationship with his brother (and his girlfriend) are both wholesome. Even when tragedy struck, none of it wavered. 

Phil’s silent for a while. By the time he looks like he’s about to say something, the bartender yells that their drinks are ready. 

“Your cosmo looks just as red and disgusting as I imagined,” Dan comments when the man is out of sight. “These shots on the other hand -” Dan downs one quickly and sucks on the slice of lemon. His whole face is sore from wincing.

“That looked painful,” Phil says sympathetically, already pulling Dan back to their table with one hand and carrying the tray of drinks with his other. Martyn and Cornelia cheer when they return, each taking a shot each. Phil nudges Dan with his arm and takes a pointed sip of his cosmo, and when he pulls away, Phil’s lips are stained a light pink - a contrast to his bright blue-green-yellow eyes. Dan finds it hard to look anywhere but him.

“What do you guys want to sing?” Martyn asks aloud then, “There’s a karaoke machine at the corner.” It’s in a bit of a crowded lounge, but really, the only way to beat the noise is to join it.

“When I get really drunk, my first karaoke go-to is Toxic,” Dan says, lips quirking. It’s true - he’s gotten far too many morning-after texts from his mates with videos of him seductively rolling his hips to Toxic, his anthem.

“Mhm baby,” Phil tries, faux-sultry. Dan bursts out laughing, so do Martyn and Cornelia, but Dan takes pity on him when Phil flushes. “Mhm baby,” he tries instead, and it takes ten more minutes (and two more shots for Dan) to coach him through it until it’s close to acceptable. 

“That’s it, we’re doing it together,” Dan decides, clapping his hands once. “It’s Britney, bitch.” Phil obligingly admonishes, “Hey! Derogatory!” - to which Dan narrows his eyes and calls him a bitch for equality’s sake. 

The back-and-forth goes on for a bit, and when Dan looks around the table, he finds Martyn and Cornelia already taking their place by the small makeshift stage in the lounge, having picked Beyonce’s ‘XO’ to start them all off. They’re cute, even when they’re desperately trying to harmonise. Dan can see Cornelia jabbing Martyn in the side, gesturing for him to sing lower and then grumbling when he inevitably can’t. 

“They’re such a good couple,” Dan remarks to Phil, who’s slightly swaying by his side. “Your drink is spilling,” Dan points out.

“Whoops,” Phil says adorably. He pouts. “I liked that. Now it’s almost finished.”

Dan scoffs. “You big baby. I’ll buy you another one.”

Phil turns to him, eyes unfocused, and in the background, Cornelia sings _your face is all that I see_. Fitting because the lighting has dimmed even more, now that it’s just past eleven. “Your face is literally the only thing I can see right now,” Dan says.

Phil blinks, stepping a bit closer. “Baby, love me lights out,” he croons with Martyn and Cornelia, and suddenly, the cramped space gets that bit smaller. Phil’s crowding closer now, lips in a tight smile and eyes wandering Dan’s face, and Dan must betray a stricken look or something, because in a second, Phil backs away hastily. 

“Sorry, ‘m a big fan of Queen B,” Phil says in the silence, in the chasm that’s formed between them. Phil turns back to the stage, where Martyn and Cornelia are repeating the second verse, and fidgets with his glass. 

“Hm, really?” Dan says, playing along though his stomach sinks. “Wouldn’t have been able to tell. Though her music is gospel-y in a way. Like ‘Partition’? Clearly one sent down from the heavens to grace our ears.”

Phil bursts out in a laugh when Dan mimes a blowjob face. “As a priest, I find that reprehensible.”

“Oh, getting prudish with me, are you?” Dan asks, lifting a brow. He grins, “Gotta get you dirty with the next song, yeah?”

Phil blushes. It’s funny, the way he thinks he can out-banter Dan. No one ever has - only Bryony has ever come close, and at the end, their conversations only ever devolve into talking about dicks.

Something possesses Dan to look slightly to his right, past the gyrating men under the strobe lights, and he sees something - or rather someone - that makes his breath catch. Hair still as blonde as ever, his biceps straining against the horrific plaid shirt - Dan can’t tell the colour from all the multi-coloured lights - and the same smug smile that graced his lips when Dan first met him, and Bryony had said, “Wirrow. My boyfriend.” They were so happy together, at first. 

“Fuck,” Dan whispers, “fuck.” He crouches down by the side of their booth, trying to stop his chest from seizing up. He’s thought about this before - meeting him again, of locking eyes with him. All of them ended with Dan wrenching away immediately, heading for the exit. He almost wants a play-by-play here, but Martyn and Cornelia are still around. And, crucially, Phil as well.

“You okay?” Phil shouts immediately into his ear, a warm hand on his shoulder. In any other circumstance, it would’ve come off calming and reassuring, but it only adds to the stress. Dan’s face must betray a sort of horrified expression because Phil doesn’t wait for a reply, instead drags him out through the exit by the loos. 

They end up in a small alley by the side of the club, some ways from the bustling nightlife of Soho. They ignore the couple snogging by the rubbish bin - very unsanitary - and huddle together next to the cobblestone road. It’s very reminiscent of the time Dan ran into a Bry lookalike before the dinner with his family; he’ll always be haunted by her memory. 

They take deep breaths together, Phil grabbing Dan’s hand and putting it over his heart. “Here, feel. Breathe,” Phil says softly, puffing up his chest each time he inhales a breath. They do it for a few minutes, until Phil is confident enough that Dan’s not hyperventilating anymore. 

“ _Fuck_ -” Phil says. Dan’s eyes widen because he’s never heard Phil curse with that much vitriol. “ _Please_ don’t do that again. That was so scary.”

“‘m sorry,” Dan says, eyes filling up with tears. He can’t do anything right - he can’t breathe right, get anxious right, have a night out right. There’s always something around to fuck it all up. Dan lets out an anguished whimper.

“Bub, hey,” Phil says, wrapping him up in a hug. “I didn’t mean - it’s not your fault. None of it. Believe me. Please. Please.” He’s almost pleading at that point.

“I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid,” Dan whispers harshly. He usually feels like he’s hanging by a thread, but today the thread has worn especially thin. Which is terrible because Dan enjoyed today. Hanging out with Phil’s family and pretending he was one of them. It was equal parts therapeutic and chaotic, and Dan loved every second of it. So, for the day to be tainted with this terrible thing, of seeing the man who enticed him into ruining his best friend’s life, must be some sick, fucked-up form of karma.

“Shut up, ok?” Phil says, anguished himself. “You’re my favourite person - you’re so kind and generous. You’re excellent at your job. You treated my family so well today, not to mention, you’re willing to go to great lengths for your family even though they don’t afford the same generosity to you. You’re so _good_ , even when you don’t feel like it.”

Dan’s full on sobbing now, putting his head on Phil’s shoulder. He doesn’t quite believe Phil - doesn’t want to - but he feels a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders. If one person believes he’s doing a good job, it’s better than nothing. Even his existential, depressed self can’t turn down the comfort of a friend.

Phil takes his hand then, leading him out to the road, and surprisingly, they keep walking. Dan’s accosted with some wind in his face and cobblestone under his shoes.

“Wait,” Dan stops, “what about your brother and Cornelia?” he asks, his voice raspy. His hand is still faintly trembling in Phil’s, but if anyone asks, he’d attribute it to the cold, dreary London night.

“Texted Martyn earlier, said we were heading off,” Phil replies, hand tightening over Dan’s. 

“Where are we going?” Dan wonders. He’s emotionally fragile and quite frankly, wants to sleep. He’s been tired for the last year, it feels like.

Phil doesn’t answer, and they keep walking for another ten minutes. Dan decides not to press it, and to enjoy the walk. Life doesn’t give him time to stop and smell the roses, if there is anything natural left in London, so he watches the leaves above him rustle in the slight breeze, and the stars peeking out from the thick smog. 

“Nice night, isn’t it?” Phil says. Dan’s eternally grateful that he isn’t asking why Dan left so abruptly, instead, letting the event simmer in the background. 

“Yeah,” Dan manages to say before Phil stops. Dan looks to his left and realises they’ve come to the front of his church. Dan looks confusedly at Phil, who steps up to unlock the main entrance. Dan says, “So _typical_. You see one person that’s sad and think God is the answer.”

It comes off slightly bitter. Phil turns around and takes a good look at him. He quirks his lips as if to say, _was I wrong?_ Dan determinedly stands his ground, scraping the sole of his shoe across the tarmac road, unwilling to step in. He’s a bit angry at Phil’s saviour complex, if he’s honest. The idea that he can save everyone, and everything, by showing them the way of Jesus. This sort of religious obligation that he has - first with the Bible and now with this.

Phil must sense his apprehension because he clarifies, “I’m not - I’m not going to tell you to bow down at the altar. Or to drink some communion wine. I just think you need someone to talk to, non-judgemental like I said.”

“And who’s that?” Dan challenges. 

Phil walks back to Dan, his footsteps thudding. “To yourself.”

+

Phil changes into his clerical robes and leads Dan to the confessional. It’s the size of a wooden shoebox, and that’s putting it nicely. It’s barren and dusty and dark, and Dan tells Phil as much.

“We don’t have the budget for renovations!” Phil protests, and Dan lets out probably his first proper laugh of the night. Phil smiles at that, turning to him. He looks relaxed, like he’s done this all before (and he has, plenty of times) but Dan can’t mistake the undercurrent of concern in his gaze. 

“This is - uh. You go over there,” he gestures to a small door on one half, “and I’ll stay here.”

“You won’t be listening in?” Dan asks.

“Only if you want,” Phil says. He likes that Phil is giving him the option, not immediately storming into the place he thinks Dan would find peace, if only temporary, by divulging his secrets. He thinks for a bit then decides it’s for the best that Phil does go in there with him - he trusts Phil. Irrevocably so. He trusts him and it hasn’t done him wrong so far. 

Dan nods, a sign that he’s ok with Phil entering. Phil takes a breath, so does Dan, and they enter their respective sides. There’s a wooden stool inside, and mesh netting separating the confessor and the confessioner. He can only see Phil’s silhouette from where he’s sitting, and it’s comforting in a way. That he’s there but not entirely visible.

“Go on,” Phil prompts.

Dan takes a breath. He wishes he had a drink with him, something to make a confession more palatable. It feels like a free therapy session in some sense (Adrian and Hanna would be proud) but Dan finds talking to himself in a wooden box a bit unnerving. Yet, he knows honesty is the best way to go about it. Even if it means losing Phil’s good faith or kindness by virtue of his answers.

Honesty, Dan reminds himself. “I - I wish I had someone to dress me. Because I hate the stress of dressing myself everyday.”

Phil snorts. “Interesting choice. I do think there are people for that.”

“It’s not just that. I want - I need someone to dress me. To tell me when to wake up, when to eat. What to do at work and how to not-” his voice breaks off. Dan puts his head in his palm. “Someone tell me how to talk to my family, and my friends, and not fuck up every good thing I’ve ever had.”

There’s a pregnant pause. 

“I walk around with a weight on my shoulders every fucking day - the anxiety, the depression. All of that would go away if I didn’t have to _think_ ,” Dan says angrily, “or say or do things out of my own volition. And you know what? That’s why people like you are hired, Phil. You tell people how to do these things. You tell them how to live their lives the honest way, the _right_ way - church on Sundays, no cheating or lying, and if you do, here’s a small shoebox of a place to atone your sins!”

Dan heaves a breath. He’s so angry and feels so helpless. “So, tell me what to do, Phil,” Dan’s voice cracks, eyes filling with tears, “I don’t fucking know what to do.”

When Phil doesn’t say anything, Dan erupts, “Tell me what to _do_!” 

Dan can hear Phil getting up from his seat, and he’s suddenly certain that Phil’s had enough. That he realises what Dan wants, and is asking for, is nothing he wants anything to do with. Dan understands though: he exhausts people, including himself, most of the time. More than anything else, he realises that maybe therapy is what’s best, even if it’s mostly talking _at_ somebody who’s paid to listen.

“I’m sor-” Dan stumbles, tears still streaming down his face. He hears some breathing outside his door, and suddenly, the curtain is being pulled back. Phil stands there, looming over him. His blue-green-yellow eyes are dark, and his lips slightly parted. He looks like a dream and a nightmare, all at once.

“What is it?” Dan asks. Phil keeps staring, his arms wrapped close to his chest like he’s stopping himself from getting close. “Phil?” Dan’s heart beating faster now.

“Kneel,” Phil says, eyes flashing. 

Dan’s heart stutters. He inhales a sharp breath. “ _What_?”

“I said kneel,” Phil repeats. “Please, _Dan_.”

Dan gasps, the request fully registering. He rubs his palms on his jean-clad thighs. He contemplates it - what’s the worst that could happen? He kneels and Phil sprays some holy water? He kneels and Phil mumbles some Bible verse and he feels miraculously better about his shit life? “Okay,” Dan says shakily.

He slides off his stool, knees bending and inching downwards until they touch the floor. He steadies the stool that’s balanced precariously behind him. He faces down, puts his palms together in prayer. It’s the least he can do.

There’s more silence, Dan can feel the weight of Phil’s heavy gaze. Dan peeks upwards and notices Phil licking his lips. “Father?” Dan asks, wanting to lift some of the tension, but the joke falls flat. Phil grunts, though, low and deep. 

He suddenly bends down, tipping Dan’s face upwards and pressing forward a searing kiss. Dan’s head spins at the sudden change of events, fisting Phil’s robes and giving back as good as he’s getting. If this is the first and last time he’ll have the chance to kiss Phil, to feel Phil’s palm on his right cheek and the sharp line of Phil’s nose against his, he wants to be able to say that he enjoyed it. That he was utterly and graciously ruined by Phil Lester.

“Shit,” Phil mutters into Dan’s lips, pulling away. It reverberates in the small room. “Are you-”

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Dan replies (to what question, he doesn’t know) and pushes himself into Phil’s chest, locking their lips once more. They stand and stumble backwards, outside the confessional and against the opposite wall. 

“How do I,” Dan asks frantically, running his hand up and down the side of Phil’s robes for a zip or something. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, when Phil gives a horny, useless whimper, “I’m gonna lift up. You ok with that?” Dan asks, toying with the hem of the Phil’s robe. Phil nods slightly, and Dan’s hand dips under. Dan traces his fingers across the seams of Phil’s jeans under the robe, and he feels delirious when Phil moans softly.

It’s right as Phil bites Dan’s collarbones, that they’re at the precipice of _something_ , that adjacent from them, a portrait falls. It thunks loudly, and there’s a crack - as if the glass shattered. Dan knows, shoulders slumped, when they both gain consciousness of their surroundings again, that the illusion of normalcy shattered with it.

Phil pulls away immediately. “I’m uh-”

“Sorry?” Dan guesses. He sighs, “I’m sorry, too.”

“This can’t - _we_. You. None of this is allowed,” Phil says like a mantra. He turns his gaze upwards to the stained glass, to the statue of Jesus on the cross. “I can’t.”

“I know.” Dan’s always known. From the way Phil murmurs a Bible verse reverently before he crosses a street, to the way he’s so kind and loving. So suited for this career, and this life. “I’m going to,” he gestures vaguely to the exit. 

Phil straightens his robes. “Yeah. I need to clean that up,” he says. “Um, I’ll see you for the stag do next Friday? I’ll be there.” And fuck Phil’s optimism, seriously. His optimism that their friendship is stronger than any fleeting attraction - nothing more than that. It’s like Dan never mattered to him in any non-platonic way, whilst Dan was wracked with guilt over the fact that he was lusting (and pathetically crushing) on a priest.

Well, fuck him. If he’s going to think everything’s all fine and dandy, then so will Dan. “Fine,” Dan whispers, eyes welling up for the upteenth time that night, “see you.” 

Dan all but runs away.

+

“Yo,” Adrian yells, banging on Dan’s door at fifteen past eight on Thursday night.

Dan jolts from where he was napping on his sofa, halfway through a Bake Off rerun. He looks around. “Where are you?” he asks dumbly.

He bangs the door again. “Outside, you _imbecile_!” Dan rolls his eyes - only Adrian would try to one-up him with posh curse words. “Seriously, I’m here!”

“Password?” Dan smirks to the closed door. He can feel Adrian’s agitation seeping through the wooden door. He must be hating this - having to interrupt his first-class decorum to shout at his brother who won’t open the door.

“Fuck you,” Adrian replies. Oh, the claws are out. 

“Password accepted,” Dan says with a wry smile, swinging the door open. He can’t get out of the way fast enough when Adrian stomps inside, eyeing his things with a wary eye. “Why is this place messier than usual?”

 _Because I haven’t been functioning properly since being kissed by the priest._ “I’ve been busy, God. Between stuff with Mum for the wedding and work, I really haven’t been able to catch a break.” It’s some version of the truth, but if Dan’s truly being honest, he’s been trying to keep far too busy to distract himself from everything with Phil.

“You need to take care of yourself,” Adrian advises like a bloody self-help book. “I have some _shivasana_ yoga passes if you need them.” 

Dan laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Are you re-gifting me what Mum gave you?”

“Perhaps,” Adrian replies, not looking the least bit guilty. Always been such a decent child. “You bloody well look like you need it more than me, judging from the size of your eyebags.” 

Adrian tuts critically at that, then tries to remedy some of the mess around Dan’s flat. He picks up a stack of books on the dining table, then wanders around for an empty shelf to deposit them in. Dan yawns, it’ll be a long wait before he finds any sort of empty space in Dan’s flat. Sometimes he feels like he’s two steps away from storing extra things in the sink.

“Thank you!” Dan hollers sarcastically when Adrian grunts. “I literally asked for no help and you came through!”

Later, when Adrian’s tried and failed to clean up, they have a late dinner. “I kind of have something to tell you,” he says cryptically, as he picks up both their plates and disposes off the extra packaging from their Deliveroo meal.

“Okay? Is it serious enough to pause this episode? John is frothing at the mouth about some failed lemon meringue, riveting stuff,” Dan jokes, switching off the telly anyway. Adrian has never wanted to talk to Dan about any particular serious thing before - he’s always done things on his own and sprung them on the family at the last minute.

“I think Hanna’s pregnant.” 

Dan’s jaw drops. “What? Like actually pregnant or pregnant with happiness or what?”

“Do people actually say that?” Adrian muses gravely. He adds, “I think I found pregnancy kits in our rubbish bin. Couldn’t bear to pick them up and see the results, though, but she’s been particularly happy around the house lately, so I’m guessing it’s good news.” Adrian sounds despondent in a way Dan’s never heard him before. 

“Isn’t that... good news, too?” Dan asks hesitantly. “Why am I detecting weird vibes from you?”

“No, _no_ ,” Adrian denies, “I’d be happy if she said she’s pregnant. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

“We’re not exactly in the fifties, mate. You _can_ have a baby before getting married - a typical thing to do,” Dan says. Even their own parents were unmarried before conceiving Dan for Christ’s sake. “‘sides, I highly doubt Hanna’s the chaste, traditional kind either. Since you guys were actively,” he clicks his tongue, mimes a tongue in cheek, “before marriage anyway.”

“That’s gross,” Adrian says, huffing out a laugh. He still looks vaguely haunted, though, and he sighs. “Also, I... I didn’t -” he stutters. 

His brother’s never been one to trip over his words, so Dan's genuinely worried. “What’s up?” Dan asks, scooting closer to him. 

Adrian puts his head in his palms, muffling his voice. “This may sound absurd but how d’you know when you’re happy?” 

Dan pauses to think. “I find this highly offensive as someone who’s serotonin-deficient,” he retorts to lighten the mood. “I actually never know when I’m happy until after. When I feel sad again and it’s like - oh, the last time _was_ different.” It’s a plain answer, one Adrian probably wouldn’t be able to relate to, but it feels honest. 

“Sometimes I feel like my relationship with Hanna is completely unhappy. Like when you’re watching one of those horror movies and get that sinking feeling that your favourite character is going to die at the end.”

“An elaborate metaphor - but I think I get it,” Dan replies. “And you feel that about Hanna? You’ve been with her for years-”

“Half a decade now,” Adrian interrupts.

“Exactly. You’ve been unhappy the whole time?” Dan asks, incredulous. They’ve certainly put up a picture-perfect facade all these years, much to Dan’s disdain. “You’ve always fawned over her, as far as I can remember.”

“I think...I thought she was my soulmate. Do you know how we met?” Dan shakes his head. He doesn’t know much beyond the fact that Hanna is one of PJ’s friends. 

“PJ’s twenty-first, I think. He had a party - you were there, you probably remember - and I bumped into her in the kitchen. She was your typical bottle-blonde bombshell, but then I started speaking to her about asset management and she just. She got me, you know?”

“But?” Dan pre-empts.

“But I quickly realised that the connection was superficial. We liked keeping up appearances more than chatting about our favourite music or books. Some weeks, we only see each other on nights with socialite gatherings. And-”

“And now she might be pregnant,” Dan finishes for him. His heart seizes at how Adrian tightens his jaw in an effort not to cry. He’s always been so much stronger than Dan, always having to pick up the pieces after tragedy struck. Even when he didn’t understand Dan’s mental illness, and has a propensity of trivialising it, he was always there to check up on him. Always knocking on his door at seven in the evening, asking if Dan’s paid the bills or had something to eat. Dan decides he has to be the backbone for the both of them now.

“Hey,” Dan says, reaching out to pat Adrian on the thigh. “It’s going to be ok.”

Adrian looks up with a quivering lip. “How do you know?” He’s never sounded so young, and so unsure. 

“Because even if you don’t love her,” Dan replies, Adrian stuttering through a breath, “you’ll love that baby. You’ll love them everyday because that’s just how you are - you’re ambitious and obnoxious,” Adrian snorts, “and just a good person who loves their family. I’ve experienced it firsthand so I have no doubt.”

Adrian gives a watery smile at that and lets Dan hug him sideways with an arm thrown over his shoulder. Dan can’t remember the last time they hugged. “And your kid is going to have the best uncle, too, no joke,” Dan says honestly. 

“I know,” Adrian says, squeezing Dan’s forearm. “I’m sorry about the therapy thing and not acknowledging your depression. It was very insensitive of me.”

Dan sits back slightly, stunned. “Okay?” It was a while ago now, and he didn’t think Adrian remembered.

“It’s actually been bothering me that I said that to you,” Adrian says, mouth scrunched up in disgust. “That I was so flippant about the fact that you were suffering. That you _are_ suffering.”

Dan sighs. He appreciates Adrian’s sentiments, but he isn’t sure he’s saying them for the right reasons. “I’m not going to lie - it hurt. People like me go around thinking that we’re a burden to society, that we’d be better off not existing at all, but it hurts even more for others to diminish the way that we feel or act because it makes them uncomfortable.”

Adrian nods, clearly distraught. “I shouldn’t’ve. It’s just - you’ve always been my take-no-shit big brother,” Dan chuckles, “and even if he had shit, he was always on top of it. I’ll never forget when you came down to Oxford one weekend and confronted the rugby guy who used to leave smelly socks along the hallway.”

They both laugh at the memory. It feels both long gone and recent. “That’s because _you_ asked me to.”

“Exactly. Because I knew you would come save me, whatever the problem,” Adrian says, and Dan’s cheek pinken. He usually compartmentalises his feelings towards his family, doesn’t think much about how alienated he usually feels around them, so to hear his brother spewing fondness all over his secondhand Persian rug is a bit too much to handle.

“Yeah well. I had to make up for the fact that I was a shit brother in all other respects,” Dan confesses.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Adrian says with a glimmer in his eyes. It feels like a truce, like making up for the lost years of bickering and arguing because they weren’t on the same wavelength of priorities, feelings and accomplishments. They couldn’t find common ground, which all along was the love they had for each other.

“Ok, ok,” Dan says, pursing his lips, “no more mush! You’re going to be a dad and have to deal with Hanna’s pregnancy hormones on the daily now - that’ll be enough mush to last a _lifetime_ ,” Dan jokes. He ignores the way Adrian’s face falls slightly before choosing to say, “Actually, I think _I’d_ be the most emotional of all. I’m such a sympathetic crier - don’t think I’m built for the angst around me.”

“As opposed to the truckload of angst coming from yourself?”

“Hey!” Dan interjects, laughing, “Too soon.”

Adrian sobers up. “Speaking of too soon, anything we still have to get done before tomorrow?”

Dan groans. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m just hoping Dad doesn’t cop off with some young woman and force us to keep quiet about it.” Dan winces at the thought.

“He wouldn’t,” Adrian says with conviction. “He’d have to find a young woman first which would be the real problem,” he says.

Dan bursts out into a laugh. “Agreed,” Dan says, raising an imaginary glass, “hear ye, hear ye, the Howell brothers are seen to be in solidarity, for once!”

“Cheers,” Adrian replies faithfully. “Hey, did you invite Phil too? Not sure if we added him to the guest list. And PJ as well, right?”

“PJ is,” Dan says. “Phil too...I guess.”

Adrian narrows his eyes because _of course_ he would. “W’dya mean?” 

“I mean he might be coming. Or he might not,” Dan shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Plus, I’m fairly sure priests don’t drink anyway.” Dan knows he’s lying through his teeth, at least one priest he knows does drink.

“He’s your _pal,_ isn’t he?” Adrian asks. Dan notes the inflection in his tone. “Why don’t you ask him if he is?”

“If you’re so bothered, why don’t you ask him yourself?” Dan snaps. He doesn’t need to be inadvertently reminded of the fact that he hasn’t spoken to Phil since they made out in a church close to a week ago, and his fingertips constantly burn now with the urge to text him. To suss out his thoughts. 

Adrian stammers, “Well - he’s. You guys have been,” he pauses, “inseparable since that first dinner? Like best friends or summat.”

Dan muffles his groan into his palm. He hates the way Adrian’s right - that he and Phil haven’t really gone a day without speaking since they met. That Phil sometimes calls him in between his duties at the church, so they can both bitch about their work, and then they both go back home and call again at night. Soulmates, Dan’d think, if the soul was a real thing that exists.

“We…” Dan trails off. “I messed up.”

Adrian turns to him. “What about?”

Dan’s fingers itch to where his phone is, to right his wrong. “Me and Phil kissed the other day. After dinner with his family. In the church where he works. And we were interrupted by a holy picture falling to the ground,” Dan admits, staccato-like. 

“Okay?” Adrian asks confusedly. “You like him, right?”

“A lot,” Dan mumbles, pressing his palm to his face firmly to tamp down on his flushed cheeks. “And before you say _I told you so, stupid that you’re getting involved yet again with someone unavailable_ , I tried so hard to not have anything with him. You need to believe that.”

“I do,” Adrian replies sincerely. “I know you learnt a lot from the whole...debacle in the past. I also don’t think you’re the same person now that you were then. But,” Adrian sighs, “I think you're far too cautious now. In life and in love.”

Dan raises his head.

Adrian continues, “I know you, Dan. I know you want to write young adult gay fiction and fall in love and be the best father to ever exist. But after Bry died, it’s like - you’re settling. You’re settling with a boring job and no commitments otherwise.”

“So let me get this straight: you’re asking me to quit the job you literally forced me to get while I was lonely and depressed, and to go after a man who’s married to God? And for what - to prove a point to you?”

“Yes,” Adrian says, “Hanna and I were far too hard on you. Especially now that I understand the full extent of your illness. But coming from someone who has always settled - who likes routine and success - _don’t_. It’s not worth it spending all of your life unhappy.”

The doorbell rings then, and Dan almost forgot that they ordered some cake as dessert. “Okay,” Dan sighs, getting up.

“Listen to me, yeah,” Adrian says, catching him by the arm, “be happy. Not content.”

He dwells over the words for the rest of the night - the same words Phil used those weeks ago. About his relationships and about Dan’s. Still, the words don’t fill him with much optimism. He’s happiest with Phil, but that might not always be the case. Especially if Phil prefers the company of the Church above all else. 

+

The next day is not as anxiety-ridden for Dan as the past few. He decides to let things take their course, and not to fuck up delicate situations as a result of his own desperation. It also means divesting himself of worry and responsibility for whatever happens with Phil, which he reminds himself is a two-way street. It isn’t all his fault all the time. 

That mentality only lasts so long. When there’s a lull at work, he discreetly Googles: (1) _how to make a man fall in love with you_ (that’s filled with mostly heteronormative bullshit). Then, (2) _how to make a priest fall in love with an atheist_ (that is rather unhelpful because Dan thinks the Vatican actively filters out results for this). And (3) _how to get over someone you were never with_ (the most painful of all.)

That evening is the stag night. Dan arrives after work to a group of middle-aged men with beer bellies (Dan’s father and his friends). His dad tips his head in Dan’s direction - his kind of hello - and Dan smiles cordially back. And then there’s the smattering of family on the side: Adrian, their cousin Joey - who Dan has always suspected moonlights as Banksy - and PJ. 

“PJ!” Dan shouts when he registers his presence. He rushes over to PJ’s side. “I love you! Thank you for coming!”

“Notwithstanding the fact that you _didn’t_ invite me and I had to find out through Hanna?” PJ jokes, rubbing a warm hand along Dan’s shoulder. “Good to be here, mate.” Dan almost tears up at that because he’s had a terrible week and he misses being in direct contact with PJ’s affection.

“Please be warned that I’m going to cling to you tonight,” Dan whispers into his ear as he hauls PJ into a hug. PJ wraps his arms around Dan’s neck instinctively, though Dan can feel the concern radiating from him. 

“What happened now?” PJ asks, pulling away to look Dan critically in the eye. “You’re usually only clingy when you’re three sheets to the wind - and you just got here, so that can’t be it.”

“Can’t I miss my best friend?” Dan asks, affronted. “Sophie hogs too much of your time these days, I must force her to unhand you sometime.”

“You forget I do want to spend _all_ my time with her. That’s a relationship in a nutshell,” PJ laughs. “What’s the deal, though?

He really doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Nothing,” Dan says, shrugging. “Just want to drink and have fun!” he bellows, ignoring the confused looks he gets from the people around him. Adrian comes by then and claps him on the back in celebration. “Time to get shitfaced!” Adrian shouts too.

“Uh oh,” PJ groans, probably pre-empting the hangover he’ll have to endure because of a night with them. “Bear in mind the re-wedding is tomorrow!” PJ protests as both Adrian and Dan drag him to the bar for some tequila shots.

Of course, his warning falls on deaf ears.

+

After a few hours of being plied with copious amounts of liquor (that Joe the bartender man is officially Dan’s favourite person), Dan finds himself thinking about Phil again. Though Phil said he’d show up, that was before the week-long spell of silence. If Dan was in his position, he wouldn’t want to come and suffer through the awkwardness in real time either. 

Still, he wishes Phil were here. Even when they were at odds with each other, Dan never wanted to be very far away. Codependency at its worst, clearly. While he inwardly stews the predicament he’s landed himself in, PJ arrives by his side. “Your brother is going off the rails. He alright?”

Dan angles himself against the sticky bar behind him, barely able to see between the throng of people who’ve arrived to drink themselves into a stupor on a Friday night. He can see his brother attracting a crowd by the corner, starting a sing-along to one of the songs playing from the jukebox machine. 

“That bastard even sings well,” PJ comments, and Dan hums in agreement, “but that’s not all.” PJ nudges him to look downwards. Dan peeks lower and sees Adrian slowly (and horrifically) unbuttoning his shirt to the song - Rude Boy by Rihanna - as well. “Oh wow,” Dan gapes. “That is...strange.”

PJ lets out a massive belly laugh. “I told you! Mr Oxford tha’ stripteaseee experrrt!” PJ whoops over the noise, pumping his fist. Dan tries to quiet him down, pressing a hand to PJ’s mouth and another on his chest to pin PJ’s arm down. 

“Shut up!” Dan giggles when PJ only shouts louder. “Who strips in a small pub!” 

Right as PJ is about to answer, a hand taps Dan’s right shoulder. Dan turns slowly, sloshed and disoriented still, to find Phil standing awkwardly behind him. He has a half smile on, and an aqua blue shirt, and Dan kissed him a few days ago. The memories rush back to him. “Hi,” Phil says.

“H-hi?” Dan stammers. PJ turns then too, steadies himself by keeping a palm on Dan’s shoulder. Phil’s eyes track the movement, not unlike the piercing gaze he gave the shameless waiter at dinner last week. Phil’s kind of jealousy is as hot as it is unnerving - like he’s reigning in a tidal wave of anger or discomfort by imagining tearing someone apart. All whilst he maintains the perfect facade of politeness. 

“Hi,” Phil repeats, turning to PJ.

“Hi,” PJ replies, narrowing his eyes. “Am I, uh, interrupting something?” he asks, even though, if anything, it was the other way around. 

“No! No,” Dan lets out abruptly. Phil’s _here_ , despite everything that happened, and against Dan’s better judgement he feels pleased by the turn of events. He feels something dangerous brewing in his stomach as Phil introduces himself to PJ unprompted.

“So _you’re_ Phil? The priest?” PJ asks, smirking at Dan. No doubt he remembers their phone conversation more than a week prior. PJ seems as perplexed at Phil’s casual attire as Dan was when they first met. How things have changed. 

“It seems like I am,” Phil says, grinning. “Didn’t know I was that popular in these parts. ‘m proper chuffed.”

Dan flushes. PJ retorts, “Well, it’s not every day that _my boy_ here gets together with a priest! In _platonic_ friendship, of course,” PJ deviously tacks on at the end. He’s like a stereotypical teenage girl giddy with gossip - it’s terrible. 

Phil’s face seems to fall slightly, as if reminded of the reckless intimacy they shared. “Yeah, yeah.” He steps back a little. “Who are you again?”

“This is PJ!” Dan cuts in. “He was my flatmate but then buggered off to Brighton with his _fiance_ ,” Dan rolls his eyes. “He pretty much invited himself back here for the party and wedding tomorrow.” 

PJ grins, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Not gonna lie, but I came for the cheap drinks and free meal.” He licks his lips salaciously. 

“You bastard!” Dan gasps, faux-outrage. “Wait till my mum hears about this!”

“She loves me,” PJ says, matter-of-fact. It is - PJ’s one of those people you hate to love. Even his mum’s icy heart was no match for PJ’s bright smile and affection for all things Nintendo. He even bought her a Mario plushie for one of her birthdays.

PJ stands awkwardly with them, like he doesn’t want to leave them alone but also doesn’t quite know how to interject. “Phil,” Dan says softly, “do you want a drink?”

Dan doesn’t wait for a reply, turns around and orders a large cosmo. Behind him he can hear PJ interrogating Phil about his job and whether he has the tendency of munching on the communion cookies when no one’s looking. Because clearly those are all pertinent questions to ask. 

“Do people come in for confessions often?” Dan hears PJ ask when the bartender passes him Phil’s drink, and it takes all of Dan’s will not to drop the glass. As it is, the drink sloshes over the side - Dan watches it drip down with embarrassment colouring his cheeks. 

Phil very awkwardly tries to answer, of course, because he’s polite like that. “Uh - uh, I guess. So. Yeah. Sometimes.” His ears are a shade of bright pink, Dan notes when he deposits the sticky glass in Phil’s hands. “ _Voila_ ,” Dan says with a shimmy, subtly trying to change the topic. “You seem to like the tooth-rotting drinks that taste sorta like Ribena.”

“I’ve never heard that comparison before but in hindsight,” Phil takes an obnoxious sip of his drink, holding Dan’s gaze, “I kind of taste it.”

“Good,” Dan smirks, turning away. They’re acting all nonchalant now, but there’s an undercurrent of tension for sure. One that PJ must eventually notice because a half-hour later, he suddenly makes himself scarce to _call Sophie_ or something as atrocious as that, and leaves them alone. Or alone as they can be in a crowded pub on a Friday night. 

“Fuck,” Dan mutters under his breath. Phil seems to hear him and chortles as well, beckoning Dan over to an empty booth from where they were leaning against the bar. “Your dad seems to be having a blast,” Phil comments as they pass his Dad’s table. They’ve got a deck of cards out and seem to be placing small bets. Shot glasses are littered across the table.

“Yeah, hope he isn’t too hungover for the wedding tomorrow,” Dan replies when they reach the quiet(er) booth area. “Riddle me this: why are Christian weddings always stag night then wedding back-to-back. Like dude, Jesus, what’s the rush?”

“I’m of good authority to say that we don’t claim that tradition, nor do we claim dumb people as our own,” Phil jokes, flicking some peanut shells off the table. “However, officially, we love all.”

Dan snorts. “Good sell.”

“Thank you,” Phil replies faithfully. “Y’worried about tomorrow?”

“Me? I should be asking _you_. I know you hate public speaking, no matter the setting.” 

Phil sighs. “Dunno. I do hate it but I’m also desensitised to the idea. Plus, I’ve realised that no one can _actually_ hate the priest officiating the wedding. Unless I’m as bad as that guy in Four Weddings.”

Dan sniffs, “That _guy_ is Rowan Atkinson - best comedian known to man and -” Dan’s interrupted by a thump on the table near him. He looks up only to realise that it’s his father protesting a loss. “You motherfuckers!” he shouts, tossing cards off the table. 

“See, if I had beaten you at Mario Kart that day, I envision your rage going something like that. Very visceral,” Phil says. He’s scooted closer to Dan in the U-shaped booth, almost by his side now to watch the travesty happening in Dan’s eyeline. 

“That was a long time ago,” Dan muses, stirring what’s left of his margarita. “I’ve grown as a person.”

Phil laughs. “Oh yes. I’ve seen it happen. Last week when the cashier dropped your croissant, it definitely _wasn’t_ you that gave her the death stare.”

“It was your mum!” Dan protests. It’s futile - they both know what happened. “Also, nice to know the day hasn’t been wiped from your memory.”

It’s a useless jab but Phil frowns anyway. Dan feels a bit irked at the fact that they haven’t spoken about _it_ , when it’s all he’s thought about for the last week. “I still remember, of course,” Phil says, as if affronted at the accusation. “It’s not something you can particularly forget.”

“Well, you seem quite intent on not talking about it, so let’s not.” Reverse psychology, Dan thinks, might be the way to go. “Oh, look, Adrian’s back at karaoke now, how fun-”

“Dan,” Phil interrupts. The stern tone travels its way down Dan’s spine. “This is - it’s...hard to talk about, ok?”

“And you think it’s breezy for me?” Dan asks pointedly. “I just think we need to sort things out before the wedding tomorrow - potentially the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

Phil’s stony facade cracks and his lips part. “It _won’t_ be. You’re my best friend,” Phil asserts.

Dan softens. “And you are mine, too. But we can’t just sweep the fact that we _made out in your church_ under the rug in spite of that. This,” he gestures between the both of them, “matters too much.”

“What are you saying?” Phil asks solemnly. Dan’s heart beats faster.

“It means...I don’t know, Phil. It means that I want a _lot_ of things from you that you just can’t give me.” It’s all he’s willing to reveal.

Phil’s eyes flash momentarily before he gulps. He looks downtrodden. “I can’t. I’m really sorry. I-”

“Don’t apologise,” Dan interjects, heart falling to his feet faster than the pull of gravity. He _knew_ it’d end up like this - with another broken heart, another thing to recover from. He almost wants to pull out pictures of every person who’s left him feeling like this, scatter them across the table and tell Phil: you wouldn’t be the first. He’d say vindictively, _you’re not different_. 

He doesn’t. Phil is different - sometimes Dan lays awake at night thinking Phil might be the only man that’s ever felt different to him.

Phil seems to sense his anguish and suddenly murmurs, “I can’t be...physical with you.”

And, wait. That’s different. “You mean…”

“I can’t have sex with you,” Phil supplies guiltily, lowering his voice further if that was possible. 

Dan wants to cry. He’s so angry at himself that his first meeting with Phil ended with him taking a random nobody home for the world to see. And how he seemed to have given the impression that all he wanted from the world was a quick fuck. 

“That’s not what-” Dan manages to protest, before Phil interrupts again.

“I can’t have sex with you because then, I’d fall in love with you. And that’s the thing I’m terrified of,” Dan’s face falls, “because that’s worse than kissing you, or letting you meet my family or spending every waking moment thinking of your smile. My life would be fucked.”

The air is tense. The rest of the pub falls away in his periphery, and it feels like him and Phil, having this conversation in the privacy of Dan’s home, on the sofa where they’ve had dozens of conversations. Where they both admitted that they were lonely, and liked each other enough to sustain a friendship. It feels like they’re back there, or maybe different: like they’re starting again.

“It wouldn’t have to be,” Dan whispers, heart seizing in his chest. “ _We_ could be enough.”

Phil sighs loudly. “I can’t leave, Dan.” Phil takes out the cross necklace he typically wears under his shirt. “When I had nothing, and was preparing to grieve, it was the Church that took me in. When I was lonely and heartbroken in a new city, the only thing that kept me sane were the Sunday sermons - I was making a _difference._ That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

It hurts when Dan hears it because it sounds so earnestly the truth. Yet, Dan doesn’t relent, too scared to let go. “You can make a difference elsewhere, Phil. You like film-making? Academia? Any of those would be fulfilling as well,” Dan says, matter-of-fact.

“I made a promise to the Church. That might sound stupid or _archaic_ to someone like you,” Dan grinds his teeth at the derision in Phil’s tone, “but it’s right for me.”

Dan takes a deep breath. “I hate to say it, that sounds like a cowardly move. You know you have options but you’re too scared to go after them. I am too - I’m afraid of taking risks, and I’m scared of getting hurt. I know what it feels like.”

Phil suddenly snaps. He tosses back the rest of his drink, then Dan’s, before he narrows his eyes. “Don’t you _dare_ call me a fucking coward.”

Dan doesn’t say anything which seems to rile Phil up further. “You know what’s worse - you’re a _liar_. You got down on your knees for me, called me Father like it gets you hard, begged me to tell you what to do - when all along, _you’ve known._ You know _exactly_ what you want to do.” Phil seethes. 

They’re only a breath away now, and the gap between them is tense and electric. Dan’s gaze flickers down to Phil’s pillowy lips, the moles he has next to his mouth. It’d be so easy to do it, to close the distance and snog the fuck out of this man, consequences be damned. 

“You calling me a liar?” Dan asks then. He’s lied about a lot of things, but not to Phil.

“Well I ain’t calling you a truther,” Phil replies. 

Both their lips quirk upwards at the useless joke, and then, there’s a bit of silence.

Phil gulps, tracking Dan’s eyes and whispers into the distance between them, “We’re gonna have sex, aren’t we?”

It hangs in the air before Dan nods slightly, his mouth tightening into a sad smile. They’re both hurting and scared, but this is _inevitable_. Like divine intervention, in a depressingly ironic way.

“Mm,” Phil nods, understanding. He takes a deep breath, blinking slowly. Looking down, Dan can see the slight tremble in Phil’s fingers, as if the gravity of the situation has dawned on him. Dan says softly, “Don’t worry. It’s just me.”

Suddenly, there’s some commotion from the table next to them. It’s then that PJ walks up to his father’s table, slurred and stumbling, and accidentally faceplants into Dan’s father’s lap. It’s a hilarious sight, to say the least, the way his father rages, “Daniel! Collect your friend!” to the way PJ is still dead asleep even with his head being jostled around by the frantic gestures.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Dan rues, smiling softly at Phil. “If there ever was the worst cockblock…”

“He’d be the one,” Phil finishes, taking the words from Dan’s mouth. There’s resignation in his tone, and perhaps relief. Dan can imagine the weight lifted of Phil’s shoulders as a result of the admittance, and Dan feels the same. 

Their feelings are mostly out in the open, and up for the taking. There’s lust and also a bit of something else. Perhaps a bit of hope mixed in between.

But once again, Dan’s father shouts for someone to come get PJ, and Dan begrudgingly gets up, gaze never leaving Phil’s. It’s hard to look away, now that he can look as long as he wants. “‘m gonna take him back to mine,” Dan says, backing away from their table.

Dan means it possibly as an invitation, but Phil doesn’t rise to the bait. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Phil says instead, giving a meaningful, crooked smile.

“See you,” Dan echoes.

+

The next day, Dan is woken up by his alarm clock at seven in the morning. It’s not enough that he has to _attend_ the wedding hungover, but it seems like his Mum pre-emptively wanted to punish them by instructing the wedding party to arrive by eight. For a wedding that is only due to start at _eleven_.

He stumbles out into the living room, his socked feet sliding a bit over the tiled floor, and he’s greeted with the delightful image of PJ sleeping with his mouth agape, his snoring unbearable. Dan will probably need to slap him awake at some point, but it also would be funny to see PJ rushing into the wedding half past noon, then trying to pretend he was early all along.

Still, he resolves to wake PJ up at some point - it’s definitely not the right day to elicit PJ’s rage. Dan heads to the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal (Shreddies, the breakfast of champions) and a steaming pot of black coffee. 

PJ wanders in sometime between his third and fourth bite. Dan looks up, surprised, “Thought you wouldn’t be awake until noon, at least.”

“Hrmppph,” PJ responds groggily, going to pour himself a vat of coffee. He gulps down so much that excess coffee dribbles down his shirt, but that doesn’t seem to phase him. Instead, he looks more chipper. “Good morning,” he says, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“How drunk are you - from a scale of _not at all_ to _passing out onto my dad’s lap_?” Dan jokes. “Seriously, mate, you were completely wasted. You’re damn lucky your hangovers aren’t too bad, else I’d be worried you might miss the wedding altogether. And you _know_ how Mum gets when people RSVP and don’t show up.”

(The last time that happened, Mum threw a fit, ripping up Aunt Helen’s dinner placard and throwing it into the washing machine - for an odd reason Dan still doesn’t understand. Needless to say, she was never invited back to the Howell home again.)

PJ groans again, less to do with sleepiness and more with embarrassment. “I’m mortified! I really only meant to congratulate him on the wedding. But then I started walking, and mumbling, and things went… well you know how they went.”

Dan smirks, “I do. I’m sure Dad will also remember it for a while yet.”

“Yay,” PJ deadpans, looking away. “So, what time are you leaving?”

“About thirty minutes, if I can get ready quick enough. You can get a free ride with me if you promise to apologise to Dad about yesterday, and also perhaps put on some trousers.” Dan checks his phone again for a message - and finds one from Phil instead. 

**_Hot Priest_ ** _: I’m bricking it but no biggie_

 **_Dan:_ ** _what happened to all the confidence you had yesterday? *side-eye emoji*_

 **_Hot Priest:_ ** _Momentary lapse in judgement *skull emoji* I think I forgot quite how many strangers I’m going to be speaking to - no Mags or Rox in the audience_

 **_Dan:_ ** _well you have me….. and i’ll only make fun of you a teeny bit if you mess up_

 **_Hot Priest:_ ** _Thank you for your kind consideration :)_

Dan puts away his phone when he hears heavy breathing behind him. Like directly behind him; like PJ’s been spying on his texts. “I hate you.”

PJ puts his hands on Dan’s shoulders and massages slowly. Dan thinks about forgiving him when PJ presses his fingers into a particularly stiff knot in his back, but then PJ says, “Any progress on that front?” like the nosy person he is, and any hope of forgiveness is dashed.

“ _Christ_ , who knows,” Dan says honestly, remembering their conversation the night before. Where there is relief in the realisation that things are mostly mutual, Dan doesn’t quite know where they stand. Phil hadn’t mentioned anything about it through their brief texts - granted, this might be too weighty to text about - so, Dan’s a bit worried that Phil might be regretting the whole thing. 

“For what it’s worth, I saw how he was around you,” PJ says, continuing the massage, “he basically melts in your presence. It was gross.”

Dan blushes before choosing to say, “It’s amazing that you noticed all that while simultaneously embarrassing the crap out of yourself.”

“Fuck off,” PJ replies, fingers reaching in front of Dan’s face to flip him off. “It took me all of two seconds, actually, which must be a record of sorts.” PJ lifts his fingers from Dan’s back and steps in front of him again. “ _Everyone_ knew y’all wanted to fuck.”

Dan remembers the way Phil mumbled, _we’re going to have sex, aren’t we_ , and the way Dan’s non-existent ovaries burst at the thought. He wanted Phil’s hands on him, he wants Phil to fuck him until he’s whimpering and then cuddle him to sleep at night. He wants nothing and everything at once - and it’s best not to think about all of that right before meeting his family.

“Whatever,” Dan mutters, yawning and getting up. “‘ve gotta get ready. Y’coming with me?” he asks, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.

“Nah,” PJ says, turning away from the table. “Probably not best to see your Dad too much today, for both of our sakes.”

Dan can’t stop giggling after that.

+

His Mum, on usual days, is a pretend-zen (but absolutely erratic) middle-aged woman, but today, that seems to be on steroids. It’s absolutely hilarious to watch her slowly lose her mind over a rose that’s astray on a guest table while doing her relaxing morning stroll around the sprawling gardens.

The event itself is outside - thank god it doesn’t seem like it’s about to rain, his Mum would die of hypertension, seriously - on a pretty plot of land just outside London. It used to be one of the botanical gardens in the neighbourhood, but the town was hit hard by austerity and it quickly became an abandoned scene. Then, about a year ago, the local government reclaimed the land and began to rent it out as an “event space” for a charge far too high for what it’s actually worth. 

Dan’s parents absolutely fell in love with the place when they visited a few months ago, Dan was told. He must admit that it’s a fairly lovely place, with bright purple hydrangeas, well-trimmed hedges and isolated enough that if the guests make a right mess of the dance party that night, no one would be bothered. 

“Pretty, innit?” Adrian asks, joining him and Mum on their walk around the gardens. Adrian looks slightly jittery, and the bags under his eyes are darker than usual. He isn’t donning the particular composed, Oxford boy look that he has the general predilection for. However, the question posed to his mother - who has a general predilection for _talking_ \- makes it a lot harder to drag him away for a chat.

“I would agree,” his mother starts, “but unfortunately, I spot at least ten things out of place. Starting with the roses, that chair on the fourth left table. Oh dear, the podium as well!” She says, aghast. “And the cake is a bit skewed, don’t you think? And I look fat in the figurine?”

“Both you and the figurine look fine, Mum,” Dan asserts. “Besides, if the cake _is_ skewed, then, you can just say it's a new autumnal trend.”

“Yeah,” Adrian agrees, “and Dan will fix the rest of the issues. No worries, Mum, enjoy the day,” he says faux-cheerily, ignoring the death stare Dan’s just given him. 

“Aw,” she says, patting both of their cheeks, “you’re both such darling boys. Thank you for agreeing to this,” she says, as if she _actually_ gave either of them the choice. “Me and your father have had a rough time these last few years, trying to deal with all sorts of challenges,” she looks at Dan briefly, “and difficulties. But I think this is _really_ what we need.” She claps her hands. “Reaffirmation - like I learnt from Guru Nathan in Nepal!”

Dan ignores the fact that his Mum has been getting advice from a random Hindu priest in South Asia and focuses instead on how glowy and happy she looks. Maybe that’s all been hiding behind the neurotic planning, and today, those feelings finally manage to resurface. 

“And how’s the speech?” Mum asks, and Dan had forgotten about it for a while. It seems ages ago now that Adrian and him hunkered down in Dan’s ratty flat, pouring over old photo books and chatting about old memories for inspiration. They managed to whittle the speech down to a decent length, interspersed with jibes and jokes, after a good two hours. Dan’s still surprised they weren’t at each other’s throats by the end of it.

“All set to go,” Adrian replies to that. ( _Of course_ he’s prepared, Dan thinks.)

Dan nods dutifully and clears his throat. “And yeah, we’re happy for you, Mum,” Dan says sincerely for the both of them, and suddenly, the months of stress (mostly things Dan’s been trying to get out of) seem worth it. After all, Dan thinks, it got him Phil as well. 

“Okay, enough of this sappy _shite_ ,” his Mum says snippily, drying her eyes on her cotton blouse. “I’ve got to go meditate and change - you,” she looks to Dan, “go fix the tables and check on your father, and you,” she shifts, “Adrian, sweetheart, please deal with the guests when they start filtering in. And don’t let Uncle Marv sit next to the buffet! - that _git_. And-”

Adrian’s already walked away by then, and before Dan can protest _why do I get more work than him_?, one look from his Mum shuts him up swiftly.

Some things really never change.

+

As he’s about to approach one of the makeshift dressing rooms by the edge of the garden area, he’s waylaid by a distressed-looking Phil.

“Y’ok?” Dan asks, as he’s dragged off to a small nook behind a nearby building. Phil’s palms are quite sweaty - honestly not a good combo with his own - and he can sense the anxiety radiating off him. “You’re kinda harshing my style here - aren’t I the one who’s anxious and depressed? We can’t both be if we want this relationship to work,” Dan says boldly, if only to make Phil smile.

It doesn’t - when Phil lets go of his hand, he turns to face the wall, pressing his forehead to the bright red bricks. "Fair warning, I think I'm going to use up my year's anxiety quota on today,” Phil mumbles, “but you can have free reign over the other 364 days.”

“But what about a leap year?” Dan asks stupidly to keep diverting attention from Phil’s imminent breakdown. “We’d have one extra day to fight over. We can share perhaps? Or we can both suffer through the panic attacks together? Like a bonding exercise.”

Phil chortles a bit at that, turning so that only the side of his temple is leaning against the dirty surface. “I’d still give the extra day to you.” Dan’s standards are truly so low that he blushes at that. Turning again, Phil chants, “I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.”

“You will,” Dan says, putting a reassuring palm on his shoulder. “I’ll be there - every step of the way. If you get nervous, just look at me. I’ll even make a funny face if you want.”

“Looking at you is the nervous part,” Dan hears Phil sigh. There’s a beat of silence before he says, “There’s so much - Dan, I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night.” Phil turns around, leaning against the brick wall. Dan can see the faint blush in his cheeks, the lips he’s bitten raw with his teeth. “About what we said.”

“Yeah,” Dan admits, smiling. “I thought this morning you would’ve regretted it. Doesn’t seem like something logical - for you and me to be together - looking at it in hindsight.” What Dan means is that it seems illogical that Phil would be willing to give up the most integral part of his faith to be with Dan. Though, if he was in Phil’s position, he might be dumb enough to do anything for Phil.

Phil doesn’t reply - instead, he turns around, pushes Dan’s back to the wall, and snogs him. Within a few seconds, Dan opens his mouth, already letting Phil dip his tongue teasingly against the roof of Dan’s mouth. It’s intoxicating, in the way that the previous kiss in the church was as well. Like Phil instinctively knows where to bite, where to lick, just enough to keep Dan wanting more. 

Phil pulls away. “This okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Definitely,” Dan mumbles, and then Phil’s pulling him back in to kiss harder than before. Dan’s knees almost buckle, _holy shit_. Phil seems to sense that, and he lets Dan lock his legs around Phil’s outer thighs to keep him upright.

After what seems like five thousand minutes, Phil releases him from his grip, lips hovering over Dan’s but not moving closer again. Dan regains consciousness of his surroundings - where he is, _why_ he’s here and what time it is. 

“Fuck!” Dan exclaims with a heaving chest, trying to push Phil away, “I’m supposed to check on Dad! And get shit done.”

Phil doesn’t relent, still caging Dan in slightly. Phil is still trying to catch his breath as well, but his eyes keep getting caught on Dan’s lips, on his cheek and jawline. Dan swats him away playfully, “We’ve already defiled enough of this place - c’mon, I’ve got things to do.”

Phil smiles, pulling back. “You’re so gorgeous, I’ve always thought so,” he says, a non-sequitur. “And my heart - it’s like doing a flippy-over thing. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Dan grins at the admission. “Is it God or is it me?”

Phil’s smile falls, as if remembering the circumstances they’re in. The impossible odds stacked against their favour. Dan would joke about it, but Phil just shakes his head at the question, almost like he has no answer. He looks up to the sky, then to Dan’s lips, and slowly backs away. They maintain eye contact for as long as possible - until Phil almost trips on an abandoned watering can and they both break away to laugh. 

“Whoops,” Phil says, dusting some dirt off his jeans. “It’s lucky I haven’t changed into my cassock yet,” he pauses, “which, by the way, it’s going to blow your frickin mind.” 

“What colour?” Dan asks, raising his voice above the noise of what seems like the catering team arriving at the compound. Dan absently realises that he’s probably _very late_ to his duties for the day - his brain is not cooperating enough at the moment to list down what they are - but he can’t seem to tear himself away. He’ll blame Phil, whatever it is.

“Purple and gold! Like the one I texted you last time,” Phil replies, resuming his walk backwards like a weirdo. “Wish me luck.”

“G’luck, Father,” Dan says, saluting him goodbye.

Phil opens his mouth as if to say something else but smiles instead, shaking his head again.

+

“Dad?” Dan asks, knocking the door of his dressing room. The room itself is approximately the size of a cubicle - far too small for any abrupt movement of the limbs but just big enough to house his father and maybe one other (tiny) person. Which is why Dan hovers by the door instead of stepping inside, wary of being smushed into a pulp.

No one answers his question. Dan looks around the vicinity and tries to spot a balding middle-aged man somewhere. “Dad?” Dan asks again, peering inside. As expected, the room is empty, and worse yet, Dad’s left his tuxedo jacket hanging on the cupboard.

“Fuck,” Dan whispers to himself, heart racing slightly. It’s completely within his Dad’s usual M.O to flee uncomfortable situations - once, he faked a DJ gig to get out of meeting his mother-in-law - but this is his _re-wedding_ for Christ’s sake. Dan would understand someone getting cold feet at their first wedding, but at a vow renewal? A concept.

“Your father went that way,” his Nan says, appearing out of nowhere. She has the propensity for wandering around trying to appreciate the _culture_ of a place - though, the only culture in this garden is perhaps the bunker-like dressing rooms - and has the eyes of a hawk. There’s no way Dad would’ve escaped her eye line. Nan points to the area where Phil stopped him, where they had their kiss.

“Thanks, Nan,” Dan says, hurrying away after giving her a peck on the cheek. “You look fabulous, by the way.” 

Nan calls out after him, “Sweets, you flatter me. What a load of crock - my gown deserves far more than a mere _fabulous_.”

Dan laughs, turning back to the task at hand.

It’s harder than Dan expected, trying to find his elusive father. It’s about ten now, and he has an hour to settle his Dad and get some of the chores done. He shoots a text to Adrian in the meantime so he can help get some of the things sorted first - much to his chagrin, Dan’s sure. Then, he also texts Cornelia to ask how she’s getting on, and if his family is getting on her nerves yet.

“Dad?” Dan calls, resuming his search. Typically, he just needs to follow the plume of smoke to his Dad - his vice of choice always was those cigars with the distinct smell - but now that he’s given up smoking for the re-wedding, Dan can’t follow that trail of breadcrumbs. Worse yet, if his father fled the grounds, Dan wouldn’t know where to start trying to find him.

“C’mon, _c’mon_ ,” Dan mumbles under his breath, going up a dodgy staircase by the side of the building, leading to a hallway with several rooms. _Not creepy at all_ , Dan assures himself, but grips his phone in his left hand to panic-call Phil if need be. Phil would probably be terrible in emergencies but, if nothing else, Phil could pray for him which is still probably better than nothing.

Dan peeks into each of the four rooms in turn, finding an array of books in each one. The items look old, dated, like pre-war memorabilia. Before Dan can rejoice in potentially finding relics, he can vaguely hear music coming from one of the rooms. It’s faint - as if the person playing it doesn’t want to be a bother - and also scary as fuck, so Dan treads slowly to the last door on the right.

It’s Oasis, Dan realises, that’s playing. It’s suddenly interrupted by a Spotify ad. Immediately, Dan knows who’s in it.

“ _Dad_ ,” Dan admonishes, opening the door. “This really is not the time to be revelling in your deejay days.”

“Son!” his father says, surprise colouring his tone. He frantically gets off the bed he was sitting on. “How did you find me?”

Dan levels his father with _a look_ to rival his mum’s. “I really need to buy you Spotify premium,” Dan says, gesturing to the phone. “Also, who plays music from their hiding spot, seriously? Bad move.”

His father finds it in himself to look guilty though he still says defensively, “I wasn’t hiding! I was wandering around and found this place.” They both look around to inspect the room - Dan’s eyes widen at the regal-looking bed sheets (probably unwashed, Dan thinks with a grimace) to the gold-plated cupboard in the corner. 

“Was this a palace?” Dan asks aloud. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was - it seems far too posh for any other purpose.

“I have no clue,” Dad replies. “Better not tell the managers even if we found out. Those buggers charged us far too much as is.”

Dan laughs but it has a sobering effect, Liam and Noel’s voices blending together in the background. “Are you nervous, Dad? Not to scare you but Mum would literally _murder_ you if you are.”

His father sighs. “Remember Oasis in the car? And our trips to Cornwall?”

“Yeah?” Dan shrugs. He has really fond memories of driving up to the port with his Dad, when Adrian was too small to come with, and listening to all sorts of music on the trip. Being a deejay seemed to be synonymous with eclectic, almost _snobbish_ , taste in good music. And so, Dan was subject to the best of Hall & Oates, Death Cab for Cutie and Oasis - of course, his father wasn’t born-and-bred in Manchester for nothing.

(Dan had also come to realise, a few years after the trips ended, that they were meant to be _boys’ trips_ , and their conversations leant a whole lot of context to issues surrounding forced heterosexuality, misogyny and the like. So, the music is definitely the only thing he has fond memories of.)

“Those were good times,” Dad laughs softly. “The songs blasting, windows down. Not a care in the world,” he says wistfully.

“Dad - you had obligations. You were taking care of me,” Dan reminds. 

His father waves him off. “You could always take care of yourself. You’re smart that way...independent.”

Dan is torn between accepting and rebuffing the compliment, so instead, he stays silent. His father continues, “I know I haven’t been the best to you. Or Adrian. Or your Mum. And sometimes, I just want to cut and run because you three might be better off without me.”

Dan snorts quietly. He doesn’t mean to undervalue this Very Important Confession his father is making, but it’s a bit too late for self-deprecating apologies. He’s always hated those - the way the blame is forcibly shifted from the perpetrator to the victims. “If you’re going to apologise, there _must_ be a better way to go about it,” Dan says.

‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ (very fittingly) ends and transitions into ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls. “I just - yeah. I haven’t been the best. And I’m sorry,” Dad admits, putting his head in his hands. “And I’m worried that repeating the same vows to your mum is only the start to hurting you guys all over again.”

“Look, Dad,” Dan says, “I don’t want to be arsey about this, but if you really want to do better, then, just do better. It’s not as hard or scary as you think.” Dan’s aware of the irony - he’s not always the best at doing better, and very frequently thinks that the odds are stacked against his favour. Still, it’s worth saying even if it’s just to remind himself.

“Thanks, son,” his dad replies. “‘ve got to get out there, don’t I?” He looks still vaguely conflicted, as if bailing on his marriage is actually a valid option here. The juxtaposition between how frantically happy Mum was earlier and how Dad is here stewing in regret and anxiety is really testament to how dysfunctional the relationship actually is. But, sometimes, it’s not too bad.

“Remember when you got Mum sunflowers for her fiftieth and didn’t realise that she was allergic to them?” Dan blurts out.

They laugh at the memory of his Mum flailing her arms and reaching for the nearest inhaler. Of her berating everyone - even Adrian and Dan - for being so insensitive, but all Dad had to do was wrap her in a hug to mollify her. They always settled in each other’s touch, even when it was difficult to be in each other’s presence for long.

“She loves you,” Dan reminds. “And you love her. And you can do better, and you _will_ ,” Dan says forcefully. 

(Despite all her misgivings, Dan adores his Mum. She practically raised two sons on her own, tried to make up for an emotionally-absent father as best as she could. Dan remembers one birthday where she surprised Dan with the newest XBox games, knowing that he’d be further ostracised in school for not appearing trendy or cool.)

“Yeah,” his father replies to that, a bit more light in his eyes. He wipes his palms on his loose pants, and asks Dan, “How do I look?”

Dan inches closer, “Your tie is slightly crooked, but as I told Mum earlier, an easy excuse is to say that it’s a current trend. Then, divert the conversation by ranting about “millennial” music like you usually do.” Dan’s fingers straighten out the tie as best as he can, avoiding eye contact with his dad.

“Thanks, mate,” his father replies. He sounds like he’s back to normal, and honestly, Dan doesn’t know much about his father’s _feelings_ to diagnose any more than that. Even if there’s residual nervousness, Dan hopes it’s more to do with a public appearance than the person he’s re-marrying. For his Mum’s sake. 

“Yeah,” Dan replies. “Better go back and get your jacket from the room.”

“Hm,” his father hums. “You’re a good kid.”

Dan laughs. “You mean when I’m not talking about being gay or unemployed or calling you out on your shit?” There’s some anger there that he hopes his dad spots. It’s not enough, he thinks, to apologise and pretend all the homophobia and bigotry was justified because Dan turned out alright. 

His dad sighs, shaking his head because there’s nothing he really can say. He grabs his phone and pauses the Queen song playing, then heads for the door. Before leaving, he turns to face Dan. “Thank you. For knocking,” he raps his knuckles on the door casing, “some sense into me.”

Dan mumbles, “Any time.” He’s already turned off from the conversation.

“And, if it makes any difference, I saw you kissing the priest today,” his father says. Dan feels the words reverberate in his chest, an immediate spike of fear shooting through his spine. A familiar feeling - like the first time he was caught kissing a boy in his bedroom. Like the first time he eavesdropped on his father saying that he rather one of his sons be dead than a faggot.

“Why would it make a difference?” Dan snipes, indignantly shaking off the slight tremble in his tone. “Are you going to tell me not to corrupt him, too?”

His father flinches, taking one staggered step back. “That’s not - I’m... you looked happy with him - I saw you boys yesterday. I’m, um, happy for you. _Truly_.” There’s some sincerity in his tone that Dan knows well enough not to believe entirely. Especially not when it’s in regards to him being queer. Yet, Dan knows, as well, these are small victories nonetheless, and that thirty minutes before a wedding is due to start isn’t the best time for mending fences. 

“Okay,” Dan says placidly. He scuffs his shoe against the hardwood floor. “He does make me happy.”

“Yeah,” his father replies, slightly winded. Given his emotional capacity of an octopus, their conversation must’ve been severely difficult to get through. Dan wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but instead, chooses to shoo his father out the door and back to his dressing room. “Now, do me a favour and please fuck off,” 

His father knows better than to call him out for it. “Got it,” he says instead, finally jogging away. At least that’s resolved, Dan thinks with a huff, mentally calculating the earliest time he can leave and be done with the day.

Right then, his phone beeps in his left hand. 

**_Cornelia: Am I at the right place? Why is there a woman screaming at a poor waiter about the soft shell crab?_ **

Dan audibly groans. The day, it seems, has only just begun.

+

“Psst!” Dan whispers when Adrian is within earshot at the entrance of the garden. He looks terrible, now that Dan considers it, with eyebags lining his eyes and an uncharacteristic gauntness to his face. “What’s the matter? Hungover from yesterday?”

“It’s - whatever,” Adrian replies, looking over his shoulder to where Hanna is. “D’you know Rox is here? From the church?”

It takes Dan a second to remember who that is - and when he does, the repressed hetero-date memories come flooding back. Even if that day ended with an evening with Phil, Dan still winces, “Yikes. Why?”

“Dunno,” Adrian says, _completely_ pointlessly.

“You’re useless - aren’t you supposed to be some hotshot professional who just _knows_ stuff?” Dan asks, outraged. 

Adrian chuckles sadly. “Apparently I don’t even know when my relationship is falling apart, so, clearly I’m not the best metric for observance.”

The confession comes out hard and painful. It’s not that Dan is surprised by any of this information - he literally has _eyes_ and can notice when two people stay together for convenience as opposed to love - but his heart still aches for both Adrian and Hanna.

“What do you mean?” Dan asks gently. “Did something happen?”

Ignoring Dan’s question, Adrian turns away and puts on a cordial face. Dan clenches his fists and does the same, agitated at the cliffhanger he’s been left with but unable to pry the answers out of Adrian before the guests file in.

The first person to approach them is their Uncle Gibson, who as far as Dan remembers, worked at a mortuary a few years ago. His hat is (probably) large enough to rival the Queen’s and he has on a bright blue tux. Given his profession, Dan doesn’t think he typically has many opportunities to express himself, so this must surely be allowed. 

After that, Dan and Adrian are forced to entertain everyone else by virtue of being in close proximity to the edge of the garden. The conversations become quite repetitive after a while - _how’s your job, and I heard your friend passed? Sorry to hear that, is her flat up for sale?_ \- that Dan desperately wants to slip away for a shot of vodka, or perhaps a little bit of Phil to calm his nerves, but neither are in sight. So, Dan puts on his brave face and powers through. 

Before long, there’s the swell of soft music playing, indicating the start of the event. Dan hasn’t had time to check up on Mum, or properly catch-up with his Nan for that matter, but he’s relieved by the fact that no one has come running to him (yet) with another fire to put out. Small luxuries.

Dan quickly takes the seat next to Adrian’s and nudges him immediately. “Spill.”

Adrian groans. “I really don’t want to talk about this,” he says huffily.

“I thought your bratty phase was literally over fifteen years ago,” Dan says. “You’re far too old to be pulling this shit with me, no less after the fact that _you_ brought it up in the first place. So, you can’t exactly blame me for asking.”

There’s some silence. Dan’s distracted by the argument at hand when Phil appears at the end of the wedding aisle, looking quite dapper in his purple and gold embroidered cassock. He gives Cornelia a quick wave - she looks excellent as well, in a light purple flowy dress and her hair dyed the same colour. Then, Phil does a cheeky spin, his robes flapping up behind him, much to the delight of the little kids in the audience. When Phil looks up, Dan swears he looks directly at him. And attempts a wink - which in effect is more of a blink. To which, Dan thinks he looks embarrassingly as delighted as the little kids. 

“I hate you,” Dan mouths back. 

Beside him, Dan hears a soft, “Hanna wants to break up with me.”

Dan gasps, turning to Adrian. “But _why?_ ” Even if Dan thought it’d happen, he didn’t think it’d happen so soon. And not when Hanna’s _pregnant_ with their baby.

“I came home mostly plastered yesterday,” Adrian admits, “and she was wide awake, helping me to bed and all. Then, this morning, she said that she was asked out on a date by one of her colleagues and she realised she didn’t have it in her to turn it down. That she doesn’t think we’re compatible anymore. And like we’re faking it.”

“But what about the baby?” Dan asks. He can’t be the only person caring about this impending baby, can he? Actually, given his family’s track record, that could be entirely possible.

“There’s no baby,” Adrian says, tone dropping down to a whisper. In the corner of his eye, Dan can see Hanna nursing a martini. “It was a false positive.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dan says, head spinning at all the new information. “So - what? You guys are calling it quits just like that?”

Adrian looks forward again. “Dunno,” he says, like it’s enough to pacify Dan’s question. When Dan leans his body forward to make eye contact with Adrian again, he finally relents saying, “Her bags were packed this morning. She even _begged_ me to break up with her.” His eyes suddenly well up with tears. “It’s o-o-ver.”

Dan asks gently, “Isn’t that what you wanted though? So you guys can move on?” 

“I thought she was my - my _soulmate_.” Adrian says, voice breaking. Dan can understand his agony; moving on always seems like this faraway fantasy, and no one’s ever ready for it. Even for a relationship that is ( _was,_ Dan guesses) mostly filled with misplaced nostalgia instead of actual love.

Dan winces, struggling to find something to say. He splutters, “Um - uh, ok but even if it is-”

He’s interrupted by the soft swell of Cornelia’s piano piece, his father appearing at the end of the aisle. It’s such bad timing, all of it - between Adrian’s issues, this tumultuous wedding and his _something_ with Phil. It’s like having to wade through such murky water to keep afloat. 

His father mutters something to Phil, mouth moving imperceptibly. Phil’s own mouth tightens and he shoots Dan a guilty look (that Dan would be worried about but as is, his mind barely registers it), apparently affected by what Dan’s father had to say. 

Before long, Cornelia’s melodic tune peaks again, now added with some electronic cello and harp accompaniments in the background. She was absolutely right when she told Dan weeks ago that no one needs a band anymore. All you need is passion and the right equipment to do the job. 

They all stand up when Dan’s mum arrives at the opposite end of the aisle behind them. She looks marvelous in her off-white dress with a sweetheart neckline. She has on her nicest pearls - nicked them off her sister, of course - and some light makeup. She looks so stunning, Dan thinks, that even Nan is tearing up at the front. And the last time Dan saw her cry was at an art gallery in Palermo ten years ago.

“You look amazing,” Dan whispers when she passes their row and her lips quirk up. Dan’s sure they’ll go back to their scheduled love-hate programming soon enough but he’s happy for her today. 

It feels a lot like healing.

When Dan’s mum reaches the front, she takes her husband’s hand and leads him to two seats by the stage to listen to Phil’s speech - apparently the highlight of the ceremony. Dan doesn’t know who else would pay a priest to speak for long at their own wedding - sometimes Dan’s convinced that the last thing he’d want to do at his _own_ wedding is speak to the guests. He’d be all for an antisocial wedding, with everyone wearing masks and standing six-feet apart because they want to avoid any interaction.

“Dearly beloved,” Phil starts, a cliche. “We are gathered here today for,” he pauses, “God knows what reason. Are wedding renewals actually popular these days?”

That gets a few chuckles from the crowd. Phil visibly relaxes, mouth no longer pulling down at the edges when he speaks. “No, joking, of course. They wouldn’t have hired me if I had no experience. Which I don’t actually,” Phil jokes, lowering his voice to an exaggerated whisper, “but please don't tell them that.”

Again, it draws laughter from the crowd. Phil had nothing to worry about, Dan grins, he’s a natural. As if reading his thoughts, Phil makes eye contact with him. “It’s been an - uh, incredible experience getting to know the Howell family and giving them the support they needed for this event. But, uh,” Phil looks away, “I must say, I don’t share the same views.”

A silence descends on the garden.

“You see, love is cruel!” Phil blurts out, startling Dan, his parents, and basically everyone else and their dogs. “Love is maddening! Scary! It forces you to do things you don’t even want to do!” Phil shouts, arms thrown in the air. Dan’s mum looks livid. Even Cornelia, the passive forest nymph, is glaring confused daggers at him from behind. 

Beside Dan, Adrian mumbles, “What have you done to your priest?” Dan shakes his head.

“Love is relentless and painful, like your heart seizing in your chest. Even on the best of days. Which is why...” Phil draws out on an exhale, “when we do find love, we don’t want to go through it alone.”

The crowd deflates, letting out half-laughs like they’re wondering how Phil’s a qualified priest but are also far too polite to point it out. Dan barks out a laugh, which catches Phil’s attention again. It’s like they’re both addicted to the sneaky eye contact, like tempestuous Elizebethan lovers. 

“I, uh,” Phil starts again. “I wrote a speech a few months ago before I met this family for dinner. It was a generic speech about love and commitment and reaffirming them through ceremonies like these,” Phil gestures to the decor around him. “But it doesn’t feel accurate anymore. Not to me.”

They make eye contact again. Phil shuffles his cue cards around like they don’t matter anymore. Dan supposes they don’t if he’s speaking from the heart. 

“A lot of people say that being romantic is being hopeful. You see, I don’t think that’s true.” Phil scuffs his shoe into the grass. The audience waits with bated breath. “I think that being in _love_ is the thing that feels a lot like hope.” Phil looks up to face them. “Hope that you can do better,” Dan’s parents look at each other, “be honest,” Adrian sneaks a look at Hanna, “and brave,” Phil says, looking at Dan. 

There’s some scattered clapping. Phil seems startled out of his trance, looking through his cards again for one, Dan predicts, with the details about starting the re-wedding ceremony itself.

Except, Phil says into the ensuing silence, “Do everything in love: 1 Corinthians 16:14,” Phil says, solemnity in his tone. “Even if it means making difficult decisions about the ones you hold most dear.”

+

“What are you going to do?” Dan asks Adrian as the event winds down. They’ve been drinking since at least 1pm - when the vows were exchanged and the matrimony...reinforced? - and they’re both decently buzzed now at 4pm. Mum and Dad have both made their rounds approximately five times, and each time Mum has paraded around a queer friend to their guests. Because she feels like the token Tolerant White Woman or whatever.

“Hm?” Adrian asks, licking the residual salt off his shot glass. 

“About your…” Dan gestures around Adrian’s figure. 

“Life?” Adrian predicts. 

“I was going to say your tragic receding hairline, but sure, life works too,” Dan jokes. He flags down the bartender for a cosmo, intending to hunt down Phil after this. He hasn’t seen the man in a few hours, and given how intimate they’ve been recently, it feels like a few hours too long. 

Adrian deadpans, “Ha. Ha.” Then, he shrugs, spotting Hanna at the corner where Cornelia is standing. “That’s - it’ll be fine,” Adrian mutters, “‘ve gotten through worse.”

“Hey,” Dan replies, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to feel upset. To grieve. It’s healthy.”

Adrian looks at him for a while before asking, “Did you ever finish grieving? You know...after she died?”

Dan chuckles softly, under his breath. “Grieving is a continuous process, Ade. Even if one day I wake up feeling the sadness lifted off my chest, I will still miss her. I always miss her.” There’s a bit of quiet before the moment is interrupted by the bartender slinging the drink. 

“Here’s my cue. Gonna go find Phil. Y’ok? Really?” Dan presses. He knows how long he was in denial about his feelings for the first few weeks after his previous breakups, how much he thought he was ready to move on before falling apart at the glimpse of one of their old sweaters left around his flat. Adrian’s in for a long few weeks.

“Yeah,” Adrian mumbles. “Might go chat to Uncle Devon.”

“Uncle Devon the banker? Dude - seriously, go get a life.”

Adrian grins, a small, wry one, and takes his leave first. Dan can see Rox eyeing Adrian from her table, watching his demeanour with a furrowed brow. Dan thinks she might be interested (possibly Adrian too, if only subconsciously) but if anything was bound to happen, it’d be months from now. Or possibly years until Adrian is ready again. 

“Knock knock,” a voice says behind him. 

“That got old fast,” Dan replies humorlessly, turning around to face Phil. “I was actually about to bring you a cosmo, you dick - where did’ja go?”

“Hi,” Phil says, abandoning the joke. “Someone stopped me earlier - your Nan, I think - and she was interrogating me about my thoughts on the Vatican. For two hours.”

“Oh gosh,” Dan sighs, laughing lightly. “I’m so sorry. Can I just say she’s senile to make you feel better about the whole thing? She probably thought you were the Pope and wanted to air her grievances.”

“Is she _actually_ senile?” Phil asks, eyebrows raised. “We had a pretty decent conversation, all things considered.”

“Nah,” Dan rebuffs, waving it off. “Some days, she’s probably more sane than everyone else in my family combined. Which isn’t really saying much, when you think about it.”

Phil squawk-laughs, tongue peeking out from between his front teeth. “No, _really_?” he asks sarcastically, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Shut up you,” Dan says, entirely too fondly. “There, take the drink,” Dan says, thrusting the glass in Phil’s direction to distract him from his own pink cheeks. 

“Thank you,” Phil says, taking it. “Hey, actually d’you wanna go for a walk maybe?” 

“Is this a proper _walk_ -walk or a clandestine _snog_ -walk? Honestly, I’m down for both but considering we’re surrounded by middle-aged family members, I’d rather it be the former.” It’s partially true: though the party is largely dwindling in number, there is a sizable number of people lingering to take full advantage of the free bar. “Not to mention, your future sister-in-law is also somewhere nearby.”

Phil’s lips press together. “A walk-walk? If that’s ok with you?”

Dan can feel the slight tremor of anxiety coming from Phil, which in turn makes Dan anxious as well. He hates the feeling - the fizzing in his stomach and the way his palms go clammy. “Okay, yeah? Sounds fine. Yep,” Dan says, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

+

They walk a bit aimlessly. They pass the building they kissed against earlier - Dan deciding against mentioning his father’s admittance - but they don’t stop, instead heading further east. There’s a bench adjacent to what looks like an abandoned bus stop. The road nearby looks submerged in gravel and when Dan looks to his left, he can almost imagine the (possible) monarchs slipping away from their grandiose bedrooms to secretly take a bus to town. Like their kind of holiday.

“Shall we sit?” Phil asks, dusting small stones off the bench.

Dan takes the seat next to Phil, pressing his palms over the length of his thighs. “It’s quiet here, nice, innit?” They’re not too far out from the event grounds but far enough that the noise is relatively muted. Though, if he tries to listen closely perhaps he can hear Adrian challenging someone new to a drinking game, or Cornelia’s ensuing peal of laughter.

“It’s sort of like we fell off the side of the Earth and landed here,” Phil says. 

“In this household, we love conspiracy theories,” Dan replies jokingly. “Flat Earthers unite.”

“Honestly, if I got a pound each time someone told me God said that Science is stupid, I’d be rich. Significantly richer than I am now,” Phil laughs. Dan isn’t surprised - religion is used as an excuse to justify many things. 

“If you weren’t a priest, what’d you be?” Dan asks then, a bit of a non-sequitur. 

“A scientist trying to find a cure for my migraines,” Phil muses. “No, actually, I’d probably be studying theology somewhere. Or making films for the church just to do something worthwhile with my degree,” Phil shrugs. 

Given the way Phil captivates an audience, the way he smiles and talks and _persuades_ , it would be truly something magical to see. “I think you’d be great at that.” 

Phil’s mouth tightens. It’s a sign. Dan heaves a breath, his heart already breaking. Before Phil can say anything, Dan beats him to the punch, pre-empts: “It’s God, isn’t it?”

It hangs in the air for a second, two, then Phil nods his head. It’s painful, the way Dan knew this would happen and, yet, let himself fall anyway. A few weeks ago, Adrian told him to stop being afraid and to let things happen naturally, but he always knew that came with a price. Just his luck. “ _Damn_ ,” Dan agonises, clenching his jaw and looking away.

“ _Dan_ ,” Phil says softly, putting a palm on Dan’s beside him. “I’m so, so,” Phil hiccups, “sorry. _God_.”

As if a trigger, Dan instinctively admonishes, “Hey, don’t apologise for something you love doing. I’ve seen you, Phil. You light up talking about your devotion to a higher power, you spend time on weekends at charity events and you befriend wayward men needing company.” He gestures to himself, chuckling wetly, “Case in point. You’re meant for this life, Phil.” Dan turns his palm into Phil’s and squeezes.

Phil turns away from Dan, frowning. Dan continues, “Don’t give it up for me.”

Phil nods, bumping his shoulder against Dan’s. “You’re such a good person,” he says. He’s said it a few times before but this time, it feels more poignant. “If we were any other people…” Phil sighs. 

“Then it wouldn’t be us,” Dan finishes. No space for regrets, Dan figures. He gets up from his seat, fingers detangling from Phil’s. It’s like Phil panics then, scrabbling for purchase on Dan’s hand, not wanting to let go. “Wait, wait.”

“Phil,” Dan says gently. 

“I love you,” Phil mumbles. It passes through Dan’s veins like nuclear fission. Hot and electric. It’s sad and it burns.

 _I love you too,_ is what Dan desperately wants to say back. But it won’t be enough. Maybe when Dan’s consistently happier and when Phil’s ready to move on, maybe then. But, for now, Dan moves away. He’s not going to be the one to force Phil’s hand on this, to give Phil a reason to forfeit his decision.

“It’ll pass,” Dan chooses to reply, gut-wrenching.

Phil nods as if resigned. “Take care of yourself,” Phil says, voice shaking.

 _I love you_ , Dan thinks again and again. “Likewise. See you, Father.” He knows it’s a lie, at least for the foreseeable future, but it seems fitting.

“See you,” Phil replies softly, still on the bench. Their eyes roam over each other’s features, as if trying to imprint them to memory. _Do everything with love_ , Phil said before, _even if it means making difficult decisions about the ones you hold most dear._ How right he was, Dan thinks.

Then, when Dan leaves, Phil watches him walk away.


	3. Epilogue

The bus is always late. It’s one of those things about London - it’s cold and rainy and the buses are always late at ten in the fucking morning on Sundays. Part of Dan hates that he’s back in this godforsaken city but also, somewhere within him, it feels like home. Right when the thought crosses his mind, a man bustles into his side and doesn’t apologise. A happy welcome, clearly.

He’s on his way to his parents’ house. He hasn’t actually seen his family at all in a year.

After the re-wedding and helping Adrian deal with his seven stages of grief (three stages, really, because Adrian is nothing if not perpetually productive), Dan came to the fairly obvious realisation that he _was_ settling with his job. Largely because he was scared of doing anything else (given how terrible the world generally is, he thought he dodged a bullet there) but mostly because London was the only thing left that tethered him to Phil. And leaving it would be like leaving _him_ behind permanently. 

About a year after the re-wedding, Dan’s dad finally had enough of his sulking and told him, in no uncertain terms, to get the fuck out. In like...a nicer way than Dan is used to. In fact, it was exactly what he needed to hear. His life was stagnating again, and the only way to avoid spiralling into a ball of nothingness was to start anew. That’s what he did after Bryony - fairly unsuccessfully, let’s be real - and now, what he had to do to get over Phil.

“You broke up with him,” Adrian had said without pity, when Dan asked whether he was making the right move. Before Dan could protest that it was very much _mutual_ , Adrian continued, “Anyone from Nan to Benji - my receptionist from work who literally has never met you before - can tell that this is a good move.”

Before long, Dan was on his flight to Boston where he was due to start a year-long executive writing programme - basically an expedited writing course for people with no prior undergraduate degree - at Boston University. 

Most of his colleagues were happy for him, potentially too happy given the way some tried to finagle into Dan’s vacant position, which was nice to see. His family seemed content enough with his trajectory (though Dan still had to remind his Mum to stop telling her friends they staged an “intervention” for him) that they were mostly hands-off about the whole thing. Which was a nice change for once.

The first and only time he texted Phil since they parted ways was the day before he was set to leave.

When he was frantically packing his things while concurrently catching up on the last episode of Bake Off and stumbled across the book he’d thrifted all those months ago. He traced a reverent finger down its spine, across the inscription inside, careful not to jostle the memories sat within. 

Later that night, he took a picture of it nestled in his luggage bag, and sent it to Phil.

**_Dan:_ ** _ <picture message> _

**_Dan:_ ** _do you think she’d be proud of me?_

There was absolutely no context at all - as far as Dan remembers, he’s never spoken about Bry to Phil in length - and Phil hadn’t even known about the book. And yet, two glasses of wine later (his therapist allowed one cheat day a week), he scrolled through his notifications and found Phil’s replies.

**_Hot Priest:_ ** _Of course. Always._

Dan’s eyes welled up with tears; Phil always knew what to say. Then, another message:

**_Hot Priest:_ ** _Where are you going?_

Dan ignored that, leaving it on read. It wasn’t to be intentionally malicious, but he knew that texting Phil would have led to getting to know him all over again and even if Dan didn’t know much about ‘moving on’, he knew it wasn’t that. 

(In other words: they’d grow to resent each other for the prolonged communication without any means to act on their feelings, his therapist had told him when he brought up the incident days later over the phone.)

And so, he moved to Boston. Between writing a piece about Davinci in an illustrious affair with a married man, engaging in academic debate about Overrated American Playwrights and phoning his therapist at five in the morning to talk about his day, Dan felt like he was finally getting on with his life. In a way that was independent of external actors - no Bryony or Adrian or Phil to physically knock some sense into him - and solely his own work.

It felt gratifying and liberating. And rather lonely.

Now, a year later, he’s home once again.

“I hate hate hate hate the bus,” Dan voice-notes Adrian when the right bus finally arrives. “And yet, you force me to take it, you dick.”

Within a few minutes, Adrian calls him. “I really don’t deserve the vitriol,” he says in lieu of hello. “Your flight was delayed and I’m at work.”

“But, ah, sick leaves exist for days like these. For when your fucking brother is in the country for once and you need to pick him up,” Dan replies, lips tightening when Adrian laughs. He possibly hates his brother even more than the dodgy London buses. 

“Rox volunteered,” Adrian chimes in, as if it would change anything. “But I told her to leave you to fend for yourself because _you’re_ the dick who hasn’t come to visit for a year.”

They have this argument at least once a month. The fact that Dan’s missed the last few Christmases, Easters, and even _Black Fridays_ , family meals have been a subject of contention. Whatever, Dan thinks, it’s not like his presence would’ve distracted his parents much from their EastEnders reruns. 

“Rox is far too sweet to be with the devil reincarnate like yourself,” Dan mutters over the phone. 

“She is!” Adrian says far too fondly. They’ve only been dating a few months but they’re already totally disgusting - Dan’s monthly Zoom calls with them are typically filled with detailed anecdotes about their past few dates. 

(Despite the misgivings in their relationship, he’s also glad to hear about how successful Hanna has been recently - according to PJ, she’s just started a new tanning business (a regrettable fad) and has been making more than all the Howells put together.)

“Whoops, Mum’s just texted to remind me about lunch today. I swear it’s like that woman doesn’t trust me at all.”

“For good reason,” Dan harrumphs. He’s already two stops away from his parents’ house. “I’ll see you later. Avoid the buses.”

“I stopped using public transport years ago,” Adrian replies cheerily and his Bourgeois Scum status is immediately reinforced. “See you.”

Dan clicks off the call. He yawns, blinking his eyes rapidly. London is in full bloom already, mid-March hitting everyone like a brick. He decided to visit home because he has a bit of a break after final exams and he’s just sent in the first draft of his novel to a few different publishers. 

He gets off at Hampstead Heath, then paces slowly to the house nearby. It’s not that he’s wasting time...ok perhaps he’s wasting time...but it’s also pretty outside so that’s a good excuse. He walks past the abandoned cemetery where he had his first (and only) kiss with a girl and the restaurant that inspired him to start his cafe, smiling all the while. They’re not all good memories but he’s been trying to deprogram the grief that he attaches to his experiences growing up. It’s part of trying to absolve _himself_ of the guilt he’s always felt for allowing the bullying or depression to happen - which he now _finally_ believes to have been completely out of his control. Who knew being out of the country (and speaking regularly to a therapist, though Dan wouldn’t admit that to Adrian) would give him so much clarity.

Eventually, he winds up in front of his parents’ front door - now painted orange for whatever hideous reason - and knocks tentatively. He still braces himself for the worst upon speaking or meeting with his family. Even if they’re on better terms now, the hesitation is subconsciously there. 

“Hello, dearie!” his mother chirps affably. She’s in a good mood, it seems like, and the house smells strongly of lavender-scented candles and turpentine. “Good to see you!” she adds, ushering him inside. They’re not much for affection but Dan still wraps her in a hug. It’s a _hi_ and _I’m sorry for not coming home_ all at once. 

“I’m alive,” Dan simply says, grinning.

“You look well,” his mother says, eyeing him warily. “You’re still taking your meds, aren’t you?”

Ah, the anti-depressants. Simultaneously the best and worst thing to have happened to him. “Yes, Mum. It’s stopped making me feel queasy all the time, so I’ve been able to eat most things.” He remembers one of the phone calls they had when Dan was two months into his move, and he had to pause the call to suppress the bile that had been rising up his throat. Needless to say, his Mum caught on real quick.

“That’s good,” she replies. Inside, he can hear a tv show on (what’s new?) and his father muttering profanities about the plot. 

“Son,” his father says gruffly, barely turning away from the telly when Dan walks in. “Alright?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s particularly interested in an answer - he’s still more of a big picture kind of guy; pretty uncaring about the small minutiae of Dan’s life - and so Dan just shrugs, smiling amiably. 

They’ve redecorated, Dan notes absently. Besides the door having had an (ugly) makeover, the inside has been transformed into a new open style concept with plenty of light filtering in. Yet, some items persistently remain, like the ugly grandfather’s chair in the corner and the checkerboard staircase Dan once chipped a tooth on.

“The house is looking good,” Dan whistles. “A lot better than the old layout,” he says, shuddering at the time when the garden was next to the kitchen and Dan kept finding small dead bees in their kitchen cabinets. 

“Uncle Helmut suggested it,” his mother says proudly. Their one Austrian uncle has always been the “exotic one” in their very British family. “Says it gives a bit of _oomph_ for our sixties!”

“Okay…” Dan laughs, unable to reply. 

He follows his Mum into the kitchen - now blessedly opposite the living room - and helps her set up the dining table. Dan is laying five plates on the table and carefully arranging the cutlery beside them when his Mum pipes up, “Whoops, one more plate, dear!”

Dan furrows his brows. “What for?”

It’s interrupted by someone ringing the doorbell and the obnoxious jingle plays. Dan shouts, “Come in, Adrian!” because who else could it be? It’s odd - Adrian has never asked permission before entering, as far as Dan remembers. It was always him skulking in before meals, feeling dejected over a low mark or, later in his life, a bad negotiation outcome.

“Adrian! Come the fuck in!” Dan shouts when, two minutes later, the doorbell rings again. 

“It must be the guest!” Mum says from the kitchen. Dan’s already irritated at this guest and he doesn’t even know who it is yet. He trudges to the front door, sending a dirty look to his father who is nonchalantly lounging on their sofa, and quickly opens it. 

“Hi?” 

Dan pauses. This must be a joke.

“ _Phil_ ,” Dan gasps, the first time he’s audibly said the name in years. The consonants wrap around his tongue, constricting the flow of any rational thought. “Wha- what? _Why_?” he stammers. 

“Hi, Dan,” Phil says sheepishly, hands clasped together behind his back. He’s in casual clothes - a jacket over a blue shirt with a Corgi print, and some tight jeans. His hair is the most different, Dan thinks, now up in a quiff instead of a piecey fringe. He looks good, far too good for someone Dan was supposed to have left behind. “Your mum invited me.”

Dan turns around and sees his Mum smile at Phil fondly. It makes sense that she’s gotten closer to Phil over the years - she still frequents the Church, as far as Dan knows, and she still keeps in contact with Cornelia. But what he didn’t expect was his Mum (and Dad, who knows about their...intimacy) to invite Phil into their house, especially on the _one day_ Dan is home.

“Ok?” Dan asks, still baffled.

“Can I come in?” Phil asks hesitantly. He’s teetering on his feet, anxiously tipping forward and moving back, but doesn’t come any closer to Dan. It doesn’t look like he’s been suffering two years without Dan, like he’s never felt whole since they fell apart. Even if he was completely devoted to the Church, the least he could do was look a bit more upset now that he’s meeting Dan again.

“No,” Dan replies, and he vindictively revels in the way Phil’s face falls slightly. Ultimately, though, it’s for naught - his mum comes by then and ushers Phil inside, taking his jacket. “Good to see you, Phil, honey, glad you accepted our invite,” she says saccharinely, and Dan wants to petulantly whine, _why did you invite him at all_? The truth is, he’s not ready to see Phil again. Especially if it’s within an amiable context, where they’re supposed to pretend that there’s nothing there beyond platonic friendship. He doesn’t know where Phil stands, exactly, but God-mandated celibacy is not something you can just give up when need be.

Phil made that clear two years ago.

Dan clears his throat and interrupts Phil’s response. “Good to see you too, Phil,” he says, though the quirk of his mouth tells a different story. “Doing well?”

“Uh, yeah,” Phil replies slowly, sussing him out. “You?”

“Splendid,” Dan says, smiling tightly.

“He’s just come from Boston for a visit!” his mother says from the dining room now, where the meal is all set up. “I told you that, Phil, didn’t I? The last time we met?”

So, Phil knew he’d be here, Dan thinks. He tamps down on the brief optimism in his chest because Phil could want to see Dan for absolutely whatever reason, or for no reason at all. Perhaps he just wanted a free lunch and decided today was best. Mum’s roast has been getting better, Dan must admit.

“You did,” Phil says. Dan thinks he might be blushing. “Big bad America,” Phil muses to Dan, “how was it?”

They all take their seats, leaving two empty for Rox and Adrian whenever they arrive. They stopped waiting for everyone to be present before eating ages ago, when one time Dad forgot they had dinner at home and came back tipsy at 2 am to his starving family.

“It was alright,” Dan mumbles, not meeting Phil’s eyes. He scoops two portions of pasta and some of the vegetables onto his plate. His mum looks delighted at his change in diet. Healthy living and all that. “Been learning a lot at university.”

Some of the pasta falls off the side of the plate while Dan’s ladling a piece of chicken next to it, which is why Dan almost misses Phil’s answer, “Me too.”

Dan does hear it, and his head whips in Phil’s direction. He drops the ladle. “What do you mean?” he asks confusedly. “Are you not at the church anymore?”

Phil looks down at his (empty) plate, prods at his cutlery. Mum interjects then, leaning forward to look at Phil, “No-” Phil starts, but his Mum interjects, “He hasn’t been at the church for a while, right?,” she gestures to Phil, “you left some time last August?”

“September, actually,” Phil corrects. “My lease started then.”

“Lease for what?” Dan asks angrily, feeling two steps behind. “What’s happening?” 

“I’ve moved to Manchester,” Phil replies, looking at Dan straight. His quiff is drooping slightly, eyes tired and a tentative tone to his voice. “Started a Masters in Theology.”

Dan remembers the conversations they used to have over the phone about Phil’s interest in other religions, in the moral quandaries within religion itself, but he never believed Phil would actually pursue them. Like Dan thought all those years ago, Phil was more suited to a life of serving the Church directly instead of contributing to academic debate. Then again, times have changed. Dan can’t claim to know much about Phil anymore.

“You have?” Dan asks, just to be sure. “And you’ve what - quit your job?”

It comes out a bit offensive but Dan’s sure Phil can hear the waver in his tone. The way he’s struggling not to get his hopes up for the risk of his heart getting broken again like it’s predisposed to doing.

“Not really,” Phil says. “I’ve been on sabbatical since the start of term but I have put in my papers to resign from the parish. Effective, uh, today actually.” Phil looks at him shyly, implying that the decision has got something to do with Dan. Which is _a lot_ to deal with, Dan thinks.

“Oh?” is all he says in return. 

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs. “I realised it wasn’t for me, long-term. My priorities shifted,” he continues cryptically, “and the Church didn’t support those.”

Right when Dan wants to enquire further, Adrian obnoxiously walks in, yelling, “My _wonderful_ girlfriend brought peach cobbler! What a feast!” 

“It’s not a feast if she brings it every time,” Dan hears his father mumble under his breath, and both Dan and Phil make eye contact then, sharing a look of mirth. Phil gestures to Dan, as if reminding him there’s food on the plate to dig into. Dan nods back, absently listening to Adrian nattering on about work and Rox and how much money he’s invested today. 

(Adrian also looked largely unsurprised at Phil’s presence and Dan wants to wring his neck for leaving him in the lurch like this.)

Throughout the meal, Dan, as per usual, isn’t asked that many questions - even though he was under the impression that the lunch was held to _celebrate_ his homecoming - but Phil distracts him from it by hooking an ankle around Dan’s. Dan immediately looks at Phil, raising his eyebrows, but all Phil does is smile in response. 

His mind is still whirring with what Phil’s just revealed, but his presence is as comforting as it is familiar, and the voices around him dissolve into white noise in the background.

+

He quietly slips out of the house after lunch, when the rest of his family (and Phil) are preoccupied with trying the other desserts they Deliveroo’d from the nearby bakery. When it arrives, Dan quickly puts the bag on the dining table, and when they’re ooh-ing and aah-ing over the (very basic) chocolate cake, Dan leaves through the back door.

It was honestly meant to be a stroll through the garden by their house, but ten minutes later, Dan winds up at the small community playground. It’s pretty barren these days - a couple of beer cans strewn around and a small sandbox filled with garbage, he’s pretty sure - but the feel of the place immediately transports Dan to a time when he actually _liked_ being around people, being at the centre of attention but not being persecuted for it.

He thinks about Phil, mostly. How they just acclimated to each other so quickly and began orbiting around each other like nothing happened. He just doesn’t know where they stand now and Dan can’t help but reevaluate their break-up, trying to wonder if they ended things right or they should’ve been together all along.

Dan takes a seat on the rickety swing that he used to eat an ice lolly on, when they still got them free from school some days. Dan sits back to enjoy the chirping birds overhead, the noise of bicycle tyres against the gravel at the bike park across the road. The last time Dan tried cycling there, he’d skinned his knee and was made fun of by the older kids. Fun times.

As Dan tries to cast his mind back to an actual _good_ memory, someone taps him on the shoulder and Dan shrieks in fright. “What the fuck!” Dan yelps when Phil pops his head in front of Dan’s face and looks far too amused for his own good. 

“I hate you, you _spoon_ ,” Dan mutters, putting a hand on his heaving chest. “You don’t sneak up on someone in a creepy playground, Phil! Not cool!”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says, barking out another laugh, “just _your face_.” Phil does a poor imitation of it which Dan says it’s both offensive and hilarious. Phil takes that as Dan’s forgiveness for his heinous crime (it definitely wasn’t) and takes the seat next to Dan on the swings. It creaks under Phil’s weight, rusty swing chain groaning when Phil adjusts his bum on it. “My Shakira hips seem to be a bit much,” Phil says before settling into the seat.

They’re quiet for a while, reacquainting themselves to each other’s presence. Two pigeons perch on the edge of the dry fountain in front of them. “Steve and Scraggy,” Phil says, all of a sudden.

“Who?” Dan asks.

“They look like the two birds I’ve been feeding on my balcony. I swear I lucked out getting a two-bedroom flat with a balcony included, though I had to skimp on the heating,” Phil replies, grinning to himself. 

Dan smiles, too. “Do you like Manchester? Being back there?” he asks, skating around the real question. “I know the last time you were there for work, so the experience must be different, but do you?”

“Kind of,” Phil sighs. “It’s complicated - I like certain things about it. I like my course,” he fidgets with his finger, “my mates are decent enough. It’s just-” Phil trails off.

“Lonely?” Dan predicts.

“Yeah,” Phil says in surprise, turning his head to face Dan. “You too?” 

Fake-Steve and Scraggy fly away, wings flapping loudly, and they both take a minute to watch the birds fly away into the light blue sky. Dan feels calm, his mind quiet, and he would be thrilled just to sit here and watch nature unfold. So maybe it’s the serenity that sparks the honesty when he says, “‘m always lonely. My therapist says it’s the outcome of always having barriers to keep out family and friends. Which, no shit, tell me something I don’t know, _Margaret_.”

Phil’s mouth falls open slightly. “You’re seeing a therapist? That’s great!” he says, eyes shining and excited. 

“She does the job,” Dan shrugs, bashful under Phil’s praise. “And you? Who do you speak to these days?” Dan asks.

“My mum,” Phil laughs, “Kath is doing well, if you were wondering. My dad, too.” Dan nods, pleased. “Mostly, I’ve been - well. I’ve been wanting to speak to you. You always know what to say,” Phil adds, blushing and looking away. 

Dan feels the mood shift immediately. It seems like Scraggy and Steve left at a good time. “Are you flirting with me?” Dan asks dazedly. “Are we back at that point in our... friendship?” The word feels foreign on his tongue - in his head, him and Phil _broke up_ , which would imply a degree of non-platonic nature. All semantics, Dan reminds himself.

Phil huffs a laugh. “Were we ever past that point?”

That hits Dan right in the jugular. He frowns, “Yeah, we broke up, didn’t we? And we both decided it was for the best?”

“Was it, though, Dan?” Phil asks softly. “Because I find myself waking up at 2 in the morning missing you. I still miss you at 7 when my morning coffee is done and at 5 when my lectures have ended. It never _fucking_ goes away. I didn’t sign up for this.” Phil grips the side of the swing rail in an effort to control his outburst.

“But we both-” Dan tries to protest, finding it hard to believe that Phil’s missed him as much as he’s missed Phil. 

“Do you know why I left the Church? Really?” 

Dan shakes his head. Until an hour ago he didn’t even know Phil _got a quiff_ let alone quit his job. “Because I realised I was _content_ , Dan. Not happy. I was going through the motions of listening to confessions and conducting the communion, and suddenly, I began seeing your face in the back row of the Church. I kept hearing your voice in my ear when I was stressed, and listening to Tame Impala because that was _your_ happy place.”

Phil sighs, smiling sadly. “I’ve been devoted to you since I met you, Dan. And as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, being apart from you just made that clearer to me. Which is why I had to leave. I’ll always be a religious person, which is part of the reason I’ve gone into academia - to keep myself tethered to this world of faith.” Phil pauses. “But, Dan, I just can’t devote myself _only_ to God knowing that you exist.”

There’s silence. Dan’s eyes let out a few tears, feeling abject sadness. Snot leaks from his nose and Dan scrambles to lift his shirt to dab at it, chuckling wetly. “That’s - ew, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Phil laughs kindly, his own eyes wet. “I’m sorry I offloaded on you. I just - I feel like I have to tell you everything? Well, not _have to_ , but want to. Even if we haven’t seen each other in two years and you likely _don’t even care_ about me anymore, I-”

“Of course I care, Phil,” Dan interrupts. “I care about you _so much_. And everything you just said, I’ve been exactly the same. Mentally, I’m better and I’m taking care of myself but there’s just always,” Dan pauses to find the words, “something missing. Like I’m half of myself without you.” He giggles, “Wow, that was dramatic.”

Phil laughs, “I expected nothing less from you.”

“And what do you expect,” Dan asks, “from _this_?” He gestures between the both of them. It’s strange and hilarious that they’re having a serious conversation on a pair of kiddie swings, but it foreshadows how they want to reestablish their bases, from the beginning. (Or maybe that’s just the Writer Dan in him that likes to metaphorise most things.)

“I want to date you. Preferably,” Phil says straightforwardly. It’s very hot. “I truly believed that I was better off devoted to an entity in the sky because it’d hurt less than caring so deeply for another human being.” 

Dan understands: Phil loves his father so much that he was willing to drop his life to be with him. It must’ve been disorientating and scary. Dan also, in a subconscious way, settled, but for lousy one nights with men he never saw the next day. It’s a similar type of trauma and fear.

“I get that,” Dan exhales. “I get not wanting to give yourself up and get hurt in the process. Why do you think we broke up years ago? We weren’t ready.”

“And we are now?” Phil asks tentatively.

Dan lets a smile break loose, biting his bottom lip. It’s time to shed the pretences and be brave, for once. “I love you. There’s nothing better than spending time with you,” Dan pauses, “when you’re not being a self-sacrificial, noble dick.”

Phil laughs, mock-affronted. “I’ll take the two positive adjectives, thank you very much.”

The laughter dies down. Their confessions dawn on them and they both heave deep breaths. “How is this going to work? Now that we’re in different countries?” Phil asks. “You’re right where I want you, but I still can’t have you.”

Phil sounds defeated. Dan hates it, doesn’t want Phil to ever hurt for him again and vice versa, but he does understand where Phil’s coming from. They’ve both moved mountains to get themselves in the right place, but it still doesn’t seem quite right. Maybe it’s God punishing Dan for seducing his best disciple - given Dan’s luck, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

Yet, he feels the overwhelming hope in their situation. The fact that they were separate for two years and both still feel so intensely for each other is already a good indicator for how well they fit. How they always will fit. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Dan says, quiet and confident about it. Dan leans his head against Phil’s shoulder and hums, “We’re good at that.”

“I love you. And we are,” Phil agrees, knocking the sides of their foreheads together. 

A thought strikes Dan. “Hey, we’re also no longer a tragic love story, so, take that, divine intervention!” Dan yells to the sky. To Phil’s ex-boss and the birds and light blue and the times they’ve pulled away from happiness only to arrive here: Dan’s face tucked into Phil’s collarbone and a million lifetimes ahead of them. 

They’re back where they’re meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand it's done! not sure if anyone noticed this little Easter egg, but no one actually refers to Dan's name in conversation until the confession scene - i wanted to mimic how, in the show, Hot Priest broke the fourth wall, too, and that was particularly poignant (mine probably...wasn’t lmao)
> 
> again, a big shout out to cazzy’s beautiful [art](https://isthisadrawingiseebeforeme.tumblr.com/post/629553554133254144/its-a-church-of-burnt-romances-author-phanetixs)!
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!! pls pls kudos/comment if you did, and you can also find me on [twitter](twitter.com/phanetixs)/[tumblr](phanetixs.tumblr.com)! i’d be happy to write another part of the series if anyone’s into that, lmk! also, stay safe everyone, love you!! 


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